


The Manservant

by KanarNaskis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Bottoming from the Top, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Class Differences, Complete, Criminal Dean, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dubious Morality, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, False Identity, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Masturbation, POV Alternating, Plot Twists, Secret Crush, Secret Identity, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Top Castiel, Topping from the Bottom, borderline sexual abuse, both sides of the story, but secret enemies, sort of, upper class Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-02 05:26:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 89,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10210550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanarNaskis/pseuds/KanarNaskis
Summary: **Based on the novel "Fingersmith" by Sarah Waters**In the mid 1800s, Dean Winchester was raised in his adoptive family's criminal business. They excel in moving products, from fenced items to unwanted infants, and Dean and his foster brother Sam help out by developing their skills as pickpockets.Castiel is a upper class young gentleman, living under his Uncle's strict household rules and top secret scholarly pursuits. He has been trained since childhood to work in the library and knows nothing of life outside, except what he has learned from books.Gabriel, a mutual acquaintance, has a scheme that throws the two together and secretly pits them against each other...but such schemes never go as planned, they are bound together by more than just circumstance, and the true puppet master never expected them to fall in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first story on this website, so I'm still figuring it out, but thanks for reading! 
> 
> This is basically a retelling of one of my favourite novels of all time, inspired by my sister who suggested I write a fanfic and swore she'd read it. I wondered curiously what it would be like if Dean and Castiel were cast into the main roles of said favourite novel....and here is the result! 
> 
> I have no beta, all typing errors are my own. 
> 
> Enjoy, and thanks again!

Chapter 1

For most of his life, Dean Winchester knew the year in which he was born, but not the month or day, and as a result had always celebrated his birthday at Christmas. Mary Winchester could not remember the exact time the baby Dean had been left on her doorstep, as so many babies were, but she did know it had been cold and blustery. So when Dean was old enough to want a birthday, they had settled on Christmas. 

His real mother was dead, but that meant nothing to him. For all intents and purposes, he was Mary's son. If he had to name a father, it would be John, Mary's husband, who ran the locksmith shop in the front of their humble dwelling place. John tolerated Mary's baby farming business for the extra income it provided, but he had never quite understood the connection Mary had formed with Dean in particular. Why he, out of so many countless and nameless babies, had stayed to grow up in their tiny London home instead of being sold, was beyond John's comprehension as far as Dean was concerned. Still, the man accepted Dean into the family, and Dean quickly proved his worth. 

The first time he realised that he could give back to the couple who took him in, he had to have been only 8 or 9 years old. There was an older boy, Rupert, who liked to take Dean along when he went on trips. Dean was an unusually handsome little boy, and as long as he was dressed nice and proper, could draw the attention of any older woman in the area, who just wanted to cup his chin and pinch his cheeks. One day, while he was putting up with the fawning of a particularly large woman with ample skirts, he noticed Rupert soft as anything, relieving the lady of her purse.  
When they returned to the shop, Rupert went off to talk privately with Mary, as usual, but this time Dean followed. He saw Rupert give Mary the purse, along with several other items that Dean had failed to notice. He stepped out, trying to look more brave than his shaking hands let on, and demanded to be taught the tricks. He wanted to help. 

Mary never approved of Dean's pickpocketting, and insisted on backup. As he got older, another one of Mary's babies failed to get adopted, and after Rupert started courting a lady who insisted he go straight, young Sam started joining Dean on his outings. Sam was light haired and had sparkling teeth; while Dean was the more handsome of the two, growing more so as he aged, Sam was the charmer and could sell wool to a sheep. Together, they made a perfect pair, and Mary allowed them their income. 

As Dean grew into a young man, he noticed how rarely the locksmith shop had any customers at all. The place was essentially just a front for the businesses operated behind: a den of thieves, John and Mary had people coming in and out regularly, looking to sell or acquire some wares. Besides Dean and Sam's forays into crowds, the little family rarely committed crimes themselves; rather, they were the type to ease them along. 

Dean thought the parade of folks coming through his home to be better than magicians. They would greet John warmly and mention needing a rather special item. John would lock the door, pull the blinds, and ask what they had for him that day. From various pockets, rips, and linings hidden within their clothes, the magician thieves would pull purses and coins, jewellery and and silk handkerchiefs, sometimes even entire bolts of cloth! Sam would look up curiously if there was a paticularly interesting item, but Dean would watch each interaction with fascination. John would hem and haw, comment about the quality of each piece, before finally offering a fair price. He was always fair, which is why they all came to him. 

Dean and Sam would help move the products along of course. They would shine the brass, count the coins, remove stitching from monographed clothing. Dean was sure he learned his letters from this task: not from putting the alphabet onto paper, but from removing it. He knew the shape of each one, and could recognise his own name, but reading beyond that was just a distant idea. Mary could read, if necessary, and John could read and even write thanks to running his business. For Dean and Sam however, and most of the friends who came in and out of the shop, reading was just a concept, like speaking Hebrew or doing a somersault. Sure, they could see the use in it for Jewish people and circus folk, but what to them? 

When Sam and Dean weren't busy helping resell items, or going on their own adventures into relieving the rich of their possessions, they would take odd jobs here and there. Sam worked briefly as a gentleman's body-servant, until the old man retired to the countryside. Dean helped Mary with her babies, often helping facilitate their transfer to new homes or even care for the tiny ones themselves. John would frown whenever he caught Dean holding an infant, but Mary would wave her husband off. They both agreed that baby farming was a woman's job, but Dean found something soothing in helping take care of something so small, and Mary allowed anything that made Dean smile. Even Sam was only allowed to stay because of how much Dean cared for his adopted little brother; everyone knew the deal, even Sam himself, though he never mentioned it. Better to stay quiet and keep a roof over his head. 

Between the babies and the fenced items, nothing ever lasted long in their house on Lant Street in the inner city. Everything was rushed out as quickly and quietly as possible. Everything except Dean. 

He had his birth mother to thank for that, as Mary had told him before. The year had been 1844, and his mother had come to Mary with the baby Dean tucked close. She was a thief, ("and what a thief!" Mary would exclaim), who needed to do one last job that would secure her fortunes and enable her to live with her son. She gave Mary 6 coins to take care of Dean and promised she'd be back soon. Of course, she never returned. The job had gone badly, and a man had died trying to protect his belongings. It was Dean's mother's knife that killed him. 

She spent a month in prison, and then was hanged. Mary told Dean that they watched the execution together, as there was a fine view of the gallows from the topmost window of their home, but Dean of course could not remember the event. Later, people would call him brave for the way he could watch executions without flinching, despite his own mother having been hanged as a murderess. Dean liked to hear them say it, but of course, the truth was that he simply didn't care about the hanging people. He didn't miss the mother he never knew: Mary was better by far, he was sure. 

Mary never could explain why she held on to him all these years. Sometimes Dean would catch John gazing at him, like he was wondering how Dean had managed to hang on, and was thinking of whom he could pass Dean along to. Sometimes Mary would hold him close, even when he was far too old to need a mother's embrace, and she would whisper to him that he would make their fortune yet, his fortune was coming and they would all share in it. Dean didn't know what that meant: after all, he was quite ordinary. Handsome, for sure, and healthier by far than most who had grown up in the area. He had never wanted for a meal or clean clothes, plain as both always were. He could steal, but it was more of a hobby than anything else, and he wasn't exceptionally skilled at it. He could polish brass to look like gold and tell if a coin was real or fake. He could cut a simple key and and pick a simple lock, but none of these abilities showed an unusual gift. In many ways, Sam was more talented, but he never drew attention to it. No one mentioned it. Dean was the treasure. 

As he grew older, Mary only held him closer. He was never allowed to court, and could only sneak some action from the girls at the theatre when he dared go out without Sam. He was forbidden from learning a trade or trying to get an education. John would laugh at the very idea. It was expected that Dean would carry on the family business, and Dean never really argued that much against it. When he thought of his future, he could imagine nothing more than staying on Lant street, maybe taking over the shop once John got too old, and hopefully someday he or Sam would have a wife to continue the baby farming. 

He had no idea that the universe had drastically different ideas for him.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a night in winter, a few weeks after the Christmas that had marked Dean's 20th birthday, and it was even darker outside than usual. Dark nights were favoured by thieves, and the locksmith shop on Lant street was still open for business. Despite the dampness in the air, and the heavy fog that was not quite rain and not quite snow, the residents of the little shop were kept quite warm by John's locksmith brazier: in addition to the kitchen fire, the brazier was always burning on nights like this. While thieves loved the darkness for the protection it offered, they disliked the cold and were more willing to make quicker deals. One never knew when John would need to melt down an item quickly. 

On this night in particular, the kitchen was full. John was melting numbers off some coins onto which he would later inscribe new ones. Mary sat in her rocker, three babies in cribs nearby, all thankfully asleep. Sam and Dean sat at the table playing cards, waiting for the next round of thieves to come, bringing their next round of goods and the next bit of work for them. It was peaceful and quiet at this moment however, except Dean and Sam's occasional murmurs and Mary's chair's occasional creak. 

The pounding on the door cut through the stillness, but startled no one. Dean, having just lost a hand, left Sam to shuffle the cards while he went to let the newcomer in. John tucked the coins away, just in case it was a more unwelcome guest, and caught Dean's eye when the coast was clear. Dean threw the door open harder than he expected, the wind having caught it, and the man on the outside had to leap backwards to avoid getting struck. 

"Dean-o, my boy! Thank god, I have come 40 miles to see you! Are you going to let me in, or make me stand out here and catch my death?" the blue-eyed man at the door was dressed all in black, a leather bag at his feet and a top hat resting on his blonde hair. 

"Gabriel!" Mary jumped up and ran to him, grasping his arm to lead him through the house. Dean was left to deal with the bag and try to get the candles by the door burning again. He didn't mind however; Gabriel had been coming around almost as long as he could remember. No one else as finely dressed and well spoken was ever caught on Lant street, but Gabriel was the exception. 

"Hello, hello, hello everyone!" He said jovially, rubbing his hands together. "It's frightfully cold out there! Another minute and my skin would have turned blue!" he reached out and took John's hand, then winked at Sam. "Still here, Sammy boy? Well that's a sight for sore eyes, I must admit!"

"Gabriel. Come in the back way, did you?" Sam snickered, and Dean rolled his eyes. Sam had a sneaking suspicion that every well off gentleman like Gabriel was secretly fond of men over women. 

"Well if I did, I'd be happy to tell you all about it in private some time." Gabriel winked. 

"Kiss my ass." Sam shot back.

"May I?" Gabriel winked again, and Dean smothered a laugh. Ok, maybe Gabriel was encouraging the rumours, but it was fun to see his younger brother get so worked up. 

"Settle down," John said in his quiet voice. "Gabriel, good to see you. What brings you around this evening?"

"Well, nothing for you to look at Mr. Winchester, not on this night anyway. I've come on a rather different sort of matter." 

Dean raised his eyebrows. Gabriel spoke well; people said he had been a proper gentleman before, but lost all his money to gambling and was reduced to earning a living the old fashioned way now. 

Gabriel turned and fixed his eyes upon Dean's. "So, Dean..."

"So what?" Dean shot back, aware that his adopted family's eyes had also all turned toward him. 

"I've come for you, actually. I have a very interesting proposal that I know you will want to hear out. 

"Dean?" Mary stood and moved behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders. "You came to speak with Dean?"

"Of course, he's the only one who will do for this particular proposal!" Gabriel grinned and leaned forward, grabbing the cards off the table where Sam had abandoned his shuffling. Gabriel sorted through them deftly, then pulled out the King of Diamonds. 

"There is a story to go along with it, and the story goes like this. An old man, wise in his way," Gabriel put the King on the table, and Dean's gaze followed it briefly before he snapped himself back to attention. "A gentleman scholar in fact, founder and leader of an organisation known as the Men of Letters....men dedicated to learning." 

Sam snorted at that, but Gabriel carried on as if he hadn't heard. "The man is intelligent, but leads a curious life. He lives in a very out-of-the-way house, in a very out-of-the-way village, and never sees anyone outside of his Men of Letters colleagues. He has a great library filled with books and prints, and he cares for nothing outside of them. He is compiling a great work on the topics there, but the work of mounting his prints turns out to be beyond him. He places an ad in a local newspaper, an ad that is answered by a certain young man who is looking for some light employment out of the city until the heat dies down over an unfortunate gaming house incident."

It's Dean's turn to snort, but Gabriel just grins indulgently. Sam however, interrupts and everyone glances at him now. 

"So it's a large manor and you're looking to clear it out? And you need Dean to what exactly, distract the housekeeper with his pretty green eyes?" 

Mary reaches over and smacks Sam upside the head, while Gabriel laughs. "Clear out the manor? Heavens no, it's a horrible, draughty place, full of little but books and dust. And no money in the bank either, before you ask. Can't even convince the man to leave it all to me! Because there is another character in this story." He shuffles through the deck again and pulls out the Jack of Diamonds. 

They all stare at it, then John mutters a soft "Oh!" 

Dean looks around, not quite grasping the meaning. Mary is nodding along, but Sam looks just as lost as Dean feels. 

"A son?" Mary asks, her eyes focused on the card like she can see the boy's face on it. 

"A nephew." Gabriel corrects. "And all the money is technically in his name. A young man....perhaps a year more than Dean. Smart. Handsome. Learned. "

"And rich!" Sam catches on, grinning. 

"Oh yes," Gabriel nods. "But only as a caterpillar is rich in wings. He is the heir to a vast fortune, but it comes with a strange little condition: he must marry before he can touch his money. If he dies a bachelor, the money goes to a cousin instead."

"How much money are we talking about?" John asks, his voice still low. Dean finds himself leaning forward as well, his curiosity piqued. 

"More than all generations of my family have seen combined." was Gabriel's answer. Sam whistled softly, and Mary's grip on Dean's shoulders tightened for a moment. He reached back and patted her hand.

"What does this have to do with me?" Dean asked, finally finding his voice. "I'm hardly a blushing bride, can't marry the guy, so why come to me?"

"Oh the marriage part isn't the problem." Gabriel shrugged. "Our prince doesn't even care about who his future wife would be. You see, he has been raised in that house since he was a tiny child, and has barely even seen a member of the fairer sex who wasn't a staff member. And the old man has been careful to hire mostly male staff anyway, in order to keep temptation away. You see, it's in his best interest to keep the young man single and in his care, so that he can continue to receive a stipend from the fortune for the man's expenses. I believe he hopes that he can finish his compilation and use it to make his own fortune; but of course, he can not if he loses access to his dear nephew's money first."

"Again, where do I come in to all this?" Dean could not for the life of him see the connection between this rich shut-in, and himself. 

"I have a cousin, a bit simple herself, but has agreed to marry him in exchange for a cut of the deal. I plan to steal him..." Gabriel slid the Jack of Diamonds to the side, "and offer him a bride in exchange for a generous payment. The lad gets a wife and a fortune, I get a payday. And Dean...remember how I said the old man prefers to hire male staff? Well, the nephew's personal manservant has recently been taken ill and forced to leave his position. I recommended a replacement, one I knew from the city who used to work in my household but recently lost his position due to our family's money woes. A hard working young man, who can start immediately."

"Dean?" Sam said incredulously. "You want Dean to pretend to be a manservant??" 

Dean couldn't help but laugh at that. "I actually agree with the kid! Me?? I've never served anyone in my life! And why should I bother, it sounds like this guy is already getting everything he needs from you."

"Ah, if only it were so!" Gabriel slid the Jack back toward the King. "You see, the lad is intelligent, as I said before, and also inclined to scholarly pursuits. Raised by his uncle, he knows no other life. In theory, he is open to the idea, but in practice he shows some reluctance. Now I have yet to complete all my work at the manor, but I was forced to take a leave for a few months while restocking on supplies. I mean to install Dean-o here at the manor as quickly as possible. He is close to the same age, as I mentioned before, and we all know he's a real charmer. I need him to gain the man's trust, and his ear, and encourage him to follow me on my plan. I work for the uncle, and have exceedingly limited one on one time with the younger scholar. I require someone to get close enough to act as my eyes and ear, as well as my voice."

"But why Dean?" Sam's voice started taking on a hint of a whine. "I can do it! I'm more charming anyway when I want to be, everyone says so! And I worked as a servant before, remember??"

"You're too young, Sam." John answered for Gabriel. "The whole plan depends on Dean convincing the man to go along with it, and it will be easier to become friendly if they are close in age. Correct?" He looked at Gabriel, who nodded. 

"Precisely. Now I know Dean has never done this sort of work before, but if he accepts, he has two days before he has to leave. Sam can help teach him what's expected in a household, I can help set him up with the proper clothing as well as provide a letter of recommendation. We can pull this off."

"And what do I get out of it?" Dean couldn't believe he was considering it. He had never been outside of the city in his life! But the job didn't sound too hard, certainly a more deserving victim in the old man locking his nephew away, compared to the usually innocent victims of his pickpocketting. And it would only be for a few months anyway. If the deal is good....

"Two thousand dollars." 

Dean's jaw dropped, and Mary's grasp on his shoulders became painful again.

"Thousand??" She gasped. It was more money than any of them had ever even imagined seeing one day.

"That's right." Gabriel grinned wickedly. "That's how much money this guy has. However....there is one more thing I should mention before you accept."

Dean forced himself to look at Gabriel again, his eyes still slightly glazed from the mere thought of that much money. 

"As I mentioned, I have been having some....difficulties....with local establishments. Once the man agrees to marry my cousin, I intend to trade places with him. Set him up as myself, to take the fall for my troubles. I will get the police off my tail, a nice payday, and he will spend some time in prison. By the time he gets out, I will be long gone. So technically Dean, you would be helping me gain my freedom, by double crossing another. Do you have it in you?"

"Of course he does!" Mary cried, before Dean could open his mouth. "I didn't raise him to be shy in the face of difficulties! For this much money....Dean, you could do it, I know you could! One look into those pretty green eyes of yours, and he will trust you. And you can finally bring us our fortune, as I always knew you would!"

Gabriel looked at Dean, and Dean thought about it. Ok, so it wasn't as innocent as he had originally thought. But two thousand dollars....none of them would ever have to work again. He could single handedly provide for his entire family, for the rest of their lives! Did it really matter if one strange man spent a short time in jail because of it? He didn't know the guy, but he did know Gabriel, and he liked him. Jail time wouldn't kill this stranger. 

"I'll do it."


	3. Chapter 3

The bookish old man, it turns out, was called Zachariah Angeles. His nephew, the son of Zachariah's sister, was Castiel Novak, and he was exactly one year older than Dean. They lived several hours outside of the city, near a small village that Dean had never even heard of and so promptly forgot the name of. The house however was called Briar, which Dean could remember as he'd never heard of something so ridiculous as a house having a name. 

Gabriel wanted to send Dean there in two days, which meant an awful lot of work for the residents of the Lant street locksmith. As soon as Dean agreed, Gabriel pulled out a pen and wrote a lovely letter about Dean. At least, that's what he explained to Dean, who couldn't read it anyway. Gabriel explained to Castiel in the letter, that he had been visiting his family while in the city, and was stricken to discover that the son of his old nursemaid was being let go due to staff cutbacks at his family home.  
He hoped Castiel would forgive Gabriel's writing, but he wanted to recommend the young man for the position currently open at Briar. 

This was the story Dean tried to memorise as he was fitted for suits and ties. Sam never let up on his teasing, but helped a lot by explaining how best to speak to the masters vs the other servants, the proper way to bow, the sort of tasks expected of a personal manservant. 

"You'll likely just have to help him carry those stuffy books around, and fetch his tea, gentlemen are awfully boring sorts." Sam added unhelpfully. Gabriel frowned at him. 

"Tsk, we're not all that bad, are we? You didn't seem to think so last night, anyway." 

Sam's face burned red and he stormed off, leaving Dean and Gabriel roaring with laughter. Sam was only 16 after all, and still learning his way around lewdness. Despite Dean's slightly sheltered nature, he had at least moved past that awkward stage, thankfully. 

Gabriel made Dean wash his hair and shave his face, two things he had never been particularly fussed about before. He had to wash and slick his hair into the neatest upper class fashion, and he had to do it again and again until Gabriel was satisfied. He then had to wash Gabriel's hair, Sam's hair, even John's hair, and shave them all until he could do it perfectly each time. Mary watched, a baby on her hip, laughing at Dean's face screwed up in concentration. 

"It's not as hard as you're making it seem, Dean!" She would call. "You have to look like you've been doing this all your life!" 

But Dean was a boy from the inner city and as long as his hair wasn't too long or crawling with bugs, he rarely even thought about it. He looked at himself now however, really looked. This shorter, clean cut look suited him. His hair could look almost blonde from some angles, brown from others. His eyes were green, as so many had mentioned before, and probably his most distinctive feature. He was surprised to see that they stood out even more with this new look. He kind of liked it. 

"Hey, pretty-boy! Stop admiring yourself and come here, we have to practice dressing."

Dean sighed. "Dressing?"

"Yes. It's morning, and your man wishes to get out of bed and get dressed. What do you do first?"

"Uhh..." Dean felt suddenly stupid. "Give him his clothes?"

Gabriel sighed. "What clothes? Specifically."

"Trousers, I guess. That's what I put on first."

"Oh really? Before your underwear?"

Sam was struggling not to laugh, as Dean's face suddenly went slack with realisation. 

"Underwear....you mean he's going to be naked??"

Gabriel laughed then, breaking Sam's resolve. Dean just stared at them in horror as they convulsed together. "Of course!" Gabriel finally managed. "He has to take off dirty clothes, same as you! He has to bathe. Part of your job will be taking the soiled clothes and delivering them to the laundry. You'll also be expected to hand him clean clothes, take care of him after his bath, and so forth."

Dean continued to stare at them in shock. "He's a grown man, he can't put on his shorts by himself??"

"Duh, why should he have to if he has you to do it for him?" Sam laughed again, and Gabriel shoved him gently. 

"You won't be physically pulling them on or off Dean, don't worry." Gabriel chucked, trying to regain his composure. "Just handing things to him mostly."

Dean suddenly couldn't stop imagining it. He hadn't really seen another naked man before, and wondered how he would feel having to stand there in his presence. What would another man look like naked anyway? Basically the same as himself, and yet....different. It was different. 

"So! Come on now." Gabriel snapped Dean out of his thoughts. "What would you hand him first?"

 

And so the training continued for an exhausting two days, until Gabriel deemed Dean ready to pass. They had decided on the name Dean Smith as a cover, stolen and altered enough clothing to make him presentable, and he had practised taking care of men's clothing so much he was certain he could now do it in his sleep.

They all went to the train station together. Dean had only a small bag with him; he couldn't afford many personal effects that could be discovered accidentally and link him back to Lant street, and so he carried only his new servant outfits. Gabriel gave him the letter to pass on to the mysterious Castiel. 

"Now, remember Dean. You're to only speak properly. Refer to your charge as Mr. Novak, unless he tells you otherwise, and yourself only as Dean. When you see me, I am Mr. Rickster, the name I have taken for this job. Speak only when spoken to, and always in the most proper way. Most importantly though, is to gain Castiel's trust. Gentleman tell their manservants everything, if they get close enough. And I want you two closer than brothers."

"But not closer than your real brother." Sam interjected, reaching in to hug Dean goodbye. "Don't forget us here, ok? I'll be waiting to help you spend that money!"

"We all will." John said good naturedly, clapping Dean on the shoulder. Mary gave him a tight squeeze. 

"It's time for you to succeed" She murmured, her voice cracking a bit. "I know you will make us proud. And don't you forget us out there!"

"I won't." Dean replied, hugging her close. "I'll be back soon."

Gabriel shook his hand one last time, and Dean boarded the train. 

He had never been on one before, and was startled at first to see how fast the scenery flew past his window. After 30 minutes of it however, he grew bored and allowed his mind to wander. 

Last night, in what was to be his last night on Lant street, Dean had found it difficult to sleep. He had been practising his bow when Mary had come in and caught him at it. 

"Dean, my dear! You must sleep, you want to look your best!"

"Mary..." he said quietly, not wanting to wake Sam in the next bed. "What if I can't do it?"

He would never voice these sorts of thoughts to anyone else, but Mary was different. 

She smiled softly and took his hand, leading him to sit beside her on his bed. "You can do anything you set your mind to. Haven't I always said you would be the one to bring us our fortune? I know you have it in you to do this now."

"But...it's so far away."

"Not so far," Mary said softly, running her fingers through his hair just like she did when he was a boy. "and the fresh country air will do you good."

"What if I...." Dean stopped and swallowed. He was a man after all, he couldn't say this out loud! "Will you miss me?" he said instead.

"Of course!" Mary's eyes widened. "Aren't you my own precious boy? I know you are a man now, but to me you are the same sweet boy I could never let out of my sight. I will think of you every day. But you will have Gabriel with you out there soon enough, and I trust him to watch out for you."

"Mary, I'm 20 years old now. I don't need someone to watch out for me, I'm working with him as a partner!" Dean's voice was steady, but the way he clung to his adoptive mother was anything but. She simply smiled at his bustle and continued stroking his hair. 

"I know that. You are ready to take your place as a man in this household, and this is how you will do it." she reached down and cupped his face, looking lovingly into his eyes. "You will make me so proud."

Dean sighed now, not really noticing the city changing into trees and fields beyond his train window. He wasn't sure if he was ready for this...but he knew he had to try. For Mary.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun had set by the time the train pulled into the last stop, where Dean was expected to depart. He stood on the platform, shivering slightly: it was colder out here than in the city. The evening fog had rolled in as well, a fog that was grey instead of brown. It seemed almost alien to him, but he couldn't deny that the air smelled sweeter, even here in the shadow of the train. 

He wasn't quite sure what to do from here. Gabriel had sent word ahead of course, and Castiel had replied that he would be happy to meet with any recommendation of Gabriel's. He would send someone along to fetch him, but that's all Gabriel had told Dean. Would someone come looking for him on the platform here? Should he walk out to the road?

He had finally decided that he could at least wait inside the small lobby, and was heading that way, when a voice called out to him. "Excuse me, lad!"  
Dean turned and saw a harsh looking older man with a cap pulled down tight over his ears waving to him. 

"You Dean Smith?"

Dean was proud that he only hesitated a minute before nodding. "That's right."

"I'm Bobby Singer, the groom over at Briar for Mr. Angeles. I was sent to fetch you."

"Oh! Yes, thank you." Dean wasn't sure what to do next, trying hard to remember Sam's lessons on talking to other servants. Bobby luckily saved him the awkwardness by grabbing Dean's small bag and pointing at the waiting horse and cart. 

They set off together, Bobby muttering that it was about 7 miles to the house. The horse moved at a trot, and Dean tried not to shiver; both from the cold air, and the trees that seemed to be pressing in on him. Any kind of beast could be lurking behind them, he thought to himself. After a ways, Bobby seemed to notice his discomfort. 

"Been out of the city much?" he asked, breaking the silence. 

"Um, no not much." Dean answered truthfully. 

"Must have had a good place up there! Good position?"

"Until recently, that's right." Dean wasn't sure how deep into a conversation he should get. Should he practice his cover story now?

"I'm not a city guy myself, but good for you. I hear it's nice work if you can get it."

"Yeah, I guess so." Dean said awkwardly. Bobby didn't ask any more questions after that, and Dean tried hard to focus on where they were going. The roads here were nothing like they were in the city. 

He was grateful when they turned left and headed through a tall set of gates, up a long driveway, then slowed to a stop outside the largest house Dean had ever seen. Grey stone stretched up at least two, maybe three stories tall, and seemed to go back forever. Just the front was longer than the entirety of Lant street.  
A clearing of the throat forced him away from his gaping, and he noticed for the first time the severe looking woman holding a lantern and watching him from the doorway. 

"Go on then," Bobby said, passing Dean's bag to him. Dean hopped down, probably less gracefully than it could have been, and stumbled a bit walking toward the woman, her lips pursing in disapproval. 

"That will be all, Mr. Singer." the woman said, not taking her piercing gaze off of Dean. "You may lock the gates for the night."

Bobby tipped his cap, and trotted off in the cart again, leaving Dean with the woman. 

"I am Naomi Hester, the housekeeper. The servants all answer to me, which you would do well to remember. Mr. Angeles likes order, and this house is run by the clock. You will hear it all night and all day, and be expected to answer to it. Mr. Angeles does not accept tardiness from his staff." she spoke in a detached, formal manner, finally turning from him to lead him inside. 

"And Mr. Novak?" Dean asked, following her quick steps through the darkened halls. 

"Mr. Novak likes what his uncle likes." Naomi said, dispassionately. "Now, here is the lay of the household: as the housekeeper, the servants answer to me, as I said before. There is one maid, but you are not to interact with her. Mr. Angeles prefers his servants do not intermingle, hence why you will see only other men here, outside of me and Hannah. The two of us do all the cleaning ourselves. Other staff include the chef, Kevin Tran; the butler, Benny LaFitte; the groom whom you've met, Bobby Singer; the groundskeeper, Rufus Turner; and Mr. Angeles's manservant, Luc Ifer." she was leading him upstairs now, and Dean was struggling to keep up while also listening to her and taking note of everything around him. The feeling of being in an alien world had not left him. 

"You'll notice that much of the manor is unused. We have it boarded up to save on cleaning, as the residents here are small in number anyway. Most of the staff sleep in small quarters on the third floor, but Mr. Novak likes his manservant to be close at hand, so you will have the room that adjoins with his. We keep early hours here, and most of the house is asleep. However, as you just arrived, we have set aside some dinner for you in your room." Naomi opened a door and gestured for Dean to go through. 

He was surprised to see that he had arrived in what would apparently be his bedroom. A small bed was pressed against the far wall, and a table and chair stood beside it. A wardrobe stood empty by the foot of the bed, and beside it was a door that Dean assumed must lead into Castiel's room. The most eye catching part for him however, was the small meat pie sitting on a plate on the table. 

"May I?" he asked, nervous about appearing too eager. Naomi nodded however, and Dean sat down to make short work of his dinner. 

The moment he was done, Naomi whisked the plate away. "There is a pot under your bed if you need to relieve yourself, and a water basin for washing up on the windowsill. I suggest you sleep once you are settled: Mr. Novak knows you were due to arrive this evening, and will likely summon you shortly after waking. Mr. Ifer has been helping Mr. Novak dress in the morning, so you won't have to worry about that until after meeting him. If he accepts you, however, you will be expected to start duties immediately."

Dean nodded his understanding, and Naomi left the room with his dishes. The moment the door was closed, Dean dropped onto his bed, rubbing his hands over his face. 

He had never been a particularly talkative person, yet he felt as if he had barely spoken a word since Gabriel had whirled through the door two days ago. Everything had happened so fast, Dean had just allowed himself to get caught up in it...but now what? He was here, the con was on, and he was expected to follow through.  
For the first time since he was much younger, Dean felt a surge of annoyance for his adoptive mother. Why had she coddled him so much? Never letting him out on his own, now he was alone, truly alone, for the first time in his life, and he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by it all. He wished Sam were here. 

A soft mumble interrupted his train of thoughts, and Dean shot upright. What was that sound? Did this place have ghosts?? Was someone outside, trying to get into his small room?

The sound came again, but louder, and Dean realised it was coming from the door that connected with the mysterious Castiel's room. He approached it, pressing his ear against it. Mr. Novak seemed to be talking in his sleep, but Dean couldn't make out any of the words. He crouched down to peer through the keyhole by the doorknob. 

The room was softly lit: Castiel apparently slept with a candle by his bed. It wasn't quite bright enough to illuminate the figure in the bed however, and all Dean could make out was a mound of blankets, moving slightly as their inhabitant shifted in his sleep. Dean watched the other man for a few moments longer, before his exhaustion forced him back toward his own bed. He hadn't slept well the night before, and the trip had tired him greatly. 

Peeling off only his outer coat and suspenders, Dean crawled into the small, lumpy bed, and despite his nerves over what was to come tomorrow, quickly fell into a dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

When a knock on the door woke Dean up the next morning, he startled upright crying out: for a moment he believed himself back at Lant street, being awoken by some desperate escaped prisoner needing fetters filed off. That happened sometimes; though most of Mary and John's clients were decent, they did dwell among criminals, and sometimes less savoury types came through. Mary had always protected Dean from the worst of it, however. 

There was a second, more tentative knock on the door, and Dean shook the sleep out of his head. "Um...enter?" 

He swore he heard a disapproving sniff on the other side of the door, and it was pushed open just a crack. "Mr. Smith? I am Hannah, the maid, and I am not to enter your rooms when you are in them. I simply need to inform you that you can take your breakfast in the kitchens with the rest of us. It will be ready in 15 minutes, so might I suggest you prepare yourself. Mr. Novak will surely summon you after you have eaten."

"Oh...um...yes. Thank you, Hannah." Dean said awkwardly. Hannah sniffed again, and the door shut. Dean rolled his eyes. Servants. He might as well get used to it. 

He allowed himself another minute in bed, thinking how it might as well still be the middle of the night. The curtains kept the thin light from entering his room, but did not keep the draught out. He shivered slightly, then forced himself out of the blankets and into the cold. 

It was 20 minutes later that he finally found his way to the kitchen. Not that he had taken too long to get ready, he only had two outfits other than the one he'd worn yesterday after all, but rather it was due to the twisting labyrinth style corridors that threaded their way throughout the manor. He was sure he would never get the hang of it, and was thinking longingly for his cosy rooms at home, when he finally stumbled accidentally into the blazing warm kitchen. 

"Late again. This better not be a habit of yours, I thought I made myself clear last night that this house runs on a perfect schedule." Naomi glared at him. 

Dean felt a prickle of annoyance, but swallowed it down. It was only temporary, he thought quickly to himself, just deal with it. "Apologies, I got myself turned around. I assure you, once I familiarise myself with the lay of the house, I shall appear like clockwork."

The woman beside Naomi, Hannah obviously, gave the trademark sniff of disapproval Dean had heard upon waking. "Learn quickly." She muttered, almost quiet enough that Dean could not hear. Almost. 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Dean settled on a bench beside Bobby and a rough looking, dark skinned man who introduced himself as Rufus without volunteering any more information. The other two men Naomi had mentioned last night were nowhere to be seen; Dean assumed they must be helping the two masters of the house. 

After eating, Hannah and Naomi whisked the dishes away and began to clean up. Rufus and Bobby nodded their goodbyes, and headed out the back door to the grounds. And Dean stayed right where he was awkwardly waiting for someone to tell him what to do. 

Time seemed to stretch on uncomfortably. Hannah and Naomi cast him looks on occasion, but no one spoke to him. He supposed if he was doing something wrong, he would be told, so he just continued looking around himself, absentmindedly playing with a sharp edge on the table. 

Dean fought the urge to sigh aloud. Was it always going to be this dull here? He remembered something from his childhood, hadn't Mary or Gabriel or someone once told him that royal women had servants called waiting ladies, or ladies in waiting or something? And their whole purpose was to wait around until they were needed to entertain? Surely men didn't have the equivalent of such a thing...did they? How much of Dean's life here would involve just sitting around and waiting to be summoned?

The kitchen was getting uncomfortably warm. The chef made an appearance...Dean had forgotten that someone else surely did the cooking here...and fired up the stoves as he started preparing for lunch. Having finished the dishes from breakfast, Hannah scurried off somewhere into the house, to clean or something Dean supposed. Naomi was still casting him uncomfortable looks, but she otherwise settled into a clearly familiar routine aiding the chef. 

Finally, after what had felt like years of his life, the door opened and a stiff looking, tall man with a tightly cropped beard appeared in the kitchen. Dean ran a hand over his own smooth face...why had he been forced to shave if this man could have a beard??...before remembering his new place, and rising to his feet. 

"Mr. Smith?" The man said, nodding his head at Dean. 

Dean nodded back. "Sir."

"Follow me, Mr. Novak wishes to see you now."

Dean followed him wordlessly as they made their way back through the dark corridors, the same way he had come this morning...though this time, following the bearded man, Dean was fairly certain he wouldn't get lost again. Hopefully.

"You may call me Benny," the man said, his voice seeming muted in the stillness of the halls. "I am the butler here. I understand you were stationed at the Rickster house before this, correct?"

"Yes, sir. Benny." Dean said. "Since I was a lad."

"Good house, that one. I know their groom."

Confident that Benny couldn't see out the back of his head, Dean finally allowed himself an eye roll. And people said city folk were thick! Hopefully it would be this easy to con Novak as well. 

They stopped outside Dean's own bedroom door, and he looked at it curiously before Benny gestured toward it "Surely you need to wash your hands? And Mr. Novak was under the impression that you had a letter for him."

Dean's hands looked clean enough to him, but he went into his room anyway and washed them in the basin. Once he was sure they were dry, he pulled the letter Gabriel had written out of his satchel and returned to the hallway. 

Benny now stood at the next door over. He nodded at Dean, who suddenly felt a nervous swooping sensation in his stomach, and pulled the door open. 

Dean stepped through, blinking. The room was dark, as was every room in this house it seemed. In this one however, the darkness seemed amplified. The walls were covered in a dark wood, the threadbare carpet almost black. He was in a sitting room, complete with sofa, table and chairs, and a writing desk. He could see a bed through a second set of doors, in the direction of his own room. And sitting at the writing desk, his back toward Dean, was at last the man Dean was here to con. 

"Mr. Dean Smith, sir." Benny announced, then exited, leaving Dean alone with the stranger, who turned to look at him. 

It took every ounce of willpower Dean had not to let his jaw drop open. Certain his eyes were popping, he quickly bowed, willing the flush that was surely creeping up on his cheeks to fade. 

The man staring at him was...there was no other word for it....stunning. 

Dean had only spent time around men from the inner city, Gabriel being the only gentleman he had ever met, and Gabriel was essentially a swindler. This man though....this Mr. Novak...Dean swallowed roughly. He couldn't even properly say why he was reacting this way. He had only glimpsed the man's high cheekbones, startlingly blue eyes, and messy black hair that looked as if someone had just been running their fingers through it. 

"Mr. Smith. Hello." 

Oh dear god, and that voice! Deep and gravelly. Where was this coming from? Get it together, Dean! He cursed himself internally and took a deep breath, before standing up straight. 

"Mr. Novak. It is my pleasure to meet you." 

Was it just him, or did Mr. Novak's eyes just widen slightly as well? No, it's a trick of the light. 

"Please, call me Castiel. And I shall call you Dean. After all, you have come here to be my manservant, have you not? Best that we feel comfortable with each other."

"Thank you, Sir. Castiel. I am certain I will like it here."

Castiel's eyes gleamed and Dean felt a blush rise again. 

"I'm certain you will. Now, let's sit. I believe you have a letter for me?"

Dean sat in a chair opposite the sofa, where Castiel himself reclined comfortably after taking the letter from Dean's outstretched hand. It was quiet as he read, and Castiel's face showed no reaction to the letter. Dean tried not to stare at him. 

"Is this true?" Castiel asked, folding the letter away. He was a quick read, it seemed. 

"Er...the letter?"

"Obviously." Castiel chuckled, and Dean felt that strange swooping sensation again. "Mr. Rickster says such things about you! You must have been very interested to read them yourself. Not every day a man gets such a compliment." 

Dean swallowed, and looked away, trying best to think how to answer. Castiel tilted his head to the side. 

"You did read it, right? I know it's not quite proper, but surely you couldn't resist taking a peek. I know I couldn't, in your shoes!" he chuckled again, and Dean swallowed. 

"Actually...sir...I never...that is to say....I can't...." Dean's face burned red now, his embarrassment more palpable. What if this was the piece that brought their whole scheme tumbling down? 

Castiel's eyes widened. "Dean...are you telling me that you can not read?"

Dean looked up, catching the surprise in the large blue eyes studying him. "I could be taught, Castiel sir, I'm sure of it, if you wish. I do know my letters a bit..."

"Taught to read?! I wouldn't hear of it!" Castiel fell backwards, a hand coming to rest on his forehead. Dean's mouth did open now in confusion, but Castiel just continued. "To not be able to read...oh I can't imagine what a blessing. Dean, you fortunate creature."

"Sir?"

Castiel thrust the letter from Gabriel at him. "Show me. Please. Read a word, any of it."

Dean took the letter, his hand shaking a bit as he squinted at it. Gabriel's writing was even more difficult to read than the fancy monogrammed kerchiefs Dean was used to un-embroidering. "I believe this is my name," he said softly, pointing to the letters clumped together in a vaguely familiar way. "And this here....Mr Rickster's?"  
Castiel fell back onto the cushions again, his hand resting on his cheek this time. "You are remarkable, Dean. I believe this arrangement will work very well."

"Um...thank you, sir."

"Castiel."

"Castiel. Sir."

Castiel smirked, then leaned forward. "You know that my uncle is a scholar, right?"

"I have heard, yes."

"This house is essentially a tomb, that passes off as a library. The largest library of it's kind in the country, but the vast majority of the literature remains locked away for my uncle's eyes only. He lives and breathes those books, and as a result has let the rest of this household die. I can only imagine what you see when you look here: the darkness, the gloom. The sun won't shine here, you see, my uncle forbids it. Sunshine fades print." Castiel laughed at his own joke, and Dean followed a second later, sensing it was the right action. "But for you, one who can not appreciate the library...you who has to see the world through your own eyes, not those of writers and scholars...I believe you will interest me."

"I hope so, sir. Castiel."

The two men gazed at each other for a moment longer, before being interrupted by the tolling of the bell from the hallway. Castiel sighed. 

"I must go to my uncle now, but I will be free again at 1pm. Come and collect me from the library...Benny will show you where it is...and we will get to know each other better. You will lunch with me, of course."

"With you?" Dean was once again surprised. From Sam's explanations, it had seemed that he would be expected to eat with the servants at all times. 

"Of course. I am required to have dinner with my uncle, but I prefer my breakfast and lunch to be more stimulating than discussing books with that old man. I really must go now though, my uncle will have my hide if I'm late." he smiled again, showing his straight white teeth, and Dean swallowed. "I will see you again at 1pm."

He turned and left the room, leaving Dean staring at the closed door wondering what on Earth had just happened to him. 

At least getting the man to go with Gabriel would likely be simple enough. Castiel seemed ready to leave at any moment, with the right nudge. Which of course, was why Dean was there. He just hoped that he wouldn't feel guilty when the time came to give Castiel up to the police.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean was bored already. It had been less than an hour since Castiel had left for the library, and Dean had finished all the chores he could think to do. Castiel's sitting room was in perfect order, though somehow gloomier without their owner there to brighten them up with his presence. Dean shook his head to clear that thought away. He was supposed to pretend to get close to Castiel, not really develop affection for the man. True affection would just make it more difficult in the end.  
He wandered the perimeter of the room, taking in the location of all Castiel's belongings. He supposed Gabriel wouldn't begrudge him taking a few souvenirs at the end of all this, though Dean had to admit he could see why Gabriel had decided the place wasn't worth robbing. The sandbags piled on the windowsill to keep out the draught were failing miserably, and when Dean touched one, his finger came away green. Mould. Great. He tidied the papers on Castiel's desk, which killed a couple minutes, then wandered over towards the fireplace. He felt like he hadn't been properly warm since leaving Lant street.

Eventually, he couldn't just sit there either though, and he wandered around the room again. Would it be acceptable to go back to his own room and take a nap, or would that be breaking some sort of etiquette? He longed to hear an infant cry, or to be given some bad coins to shine up. Anything from back home, anything to ease this boredom! 

Dean glanced through the doorway to where Castiel's bedroom was. He was the servant after all, surely the room wasn't off limits to him? If caught, he could always explain that he was trying to tidy or something. He went into the room.

Castiel's bedroom was as dark and plain as the sitting room had been, with dark wooden walls and dusty curtains. Did Hannah ever come in here, Dean thought idly as he noticed the dust also gathering on the mantle by the unlit fireplace in here. He sighed and ran his hand over it, hoping that would at least give the illusion of cleanliness. He would have to remember to ask where he'd be able to find a rag or cloth. 

This room was dominated by a large four poster bed, with curtains that were pinned open, dark like everything else. Dean couldn't imagine sleeping in such a bed without sneezing, the canopy looked like it hadn't been shaken out in years. The bedding was drawn up and neat, but Castiel's night shirt lay across the foot. Dean folded it and placed it under the pillow, which he noticed had a few small dark hairs on it. So much for housekeeping, he thought wryly, tossing the hairs into the fireplace. Hannah really did stay away from here. 

There wasn't much more to look at here than in the other room, but Dean's boredom drove him to examine every inch anyway. A wardrobe with a mirror on the door stood in the corner, and Dean opened it carefully, eyes roving over Castiel's shirts and trousers hanging there. There was a vaguely crisp scent to them, one he was starting to realise was the smell of the man himself. It was faintly embedded in all the fabrics. Closing the door, he turned to the dresser next, opening each drawer just as carefully. He found undergarments, socks, even some gloves. Nothing out of the ordinary.

A table by the window held two hats that Castiel must hold onto for those rare occasions he was allowed out of the house. Dean smirked to see them, they were at least a few years out of fashion. There was also a shaving kit on the table, along with a jug of water and a basin, reminding Dean that one of his chores would be to shave Castiel each morning. He allowed himself a brief moment to imagine being that close to the other man's face, then shook it off. This was no place for such imaginings. 

The only other thing of note in the room, besides the door that he could tell led to his own room, was the small night side table. Dean headed there next to examine the contents. On the table top itself, Dean found a small book. He assumed it to be scriptures or some such thing, and ignored it. Beside that was a small box, with a simple lock. Dean picked it up and shook it gently, noticing a rattle inside. He examined the lock a little closer, than retrieved a pin from the shaving table and used it to pop the lock right open. 

Inside sat a locket, tied to a black ribbon. He opened it gently and saw a photograph. He had only had the chance to examine a few photographs in his time, and looked closely at this one. It featured a young woman, maybe only a few years older than he himself. Her dress and hair however were a good twenty years out of date. Based on that alone, he assumed the woman to be Castiel's dead mother. He couldn't see much resemblance, but how much could you tell from a photograph anyway? It was a small one as well. He wondered why Castiel kept it locked away instead of on display somewhere. Surely he couldn't wear a woman's locket, but he could hang it up or something. Shrugging the mystery off, he put it back and locked the box again, lest he be caught and thought a thief. He chuckled at the thought.  
One good thing to be said about Briar was that one always knew what the time was. As the clock struck 12, Benny arrived with a tray of tea. 

"Castiel isn't here," Dean said, confused. 

"Of course not, this is for you." Benny smiled, the first friendly expression Dean had seen on any of the staff thus far. "I imagine you have grown bored."

Dean broke out into a reluctant smile. "I was kept busier at my last post." he admitted, thinking once again longingly of Lant street. 

Benny chuckled. "I have little doubt. Well here, have a cup. It is expected that I bring Mr. Novak's man a tray at this time every day, to help tide him over until lunch."

"Thank you," Dean replied, sitting at the table Benny had placed the tray on. "Care to join me?"

Benny raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"Please," Dean gestured to the opposite chair. "I have been bored all morning."

Benny chuckled again, and sat down opposite him. "I can spare a bit of time, I suppose, to welcome the handsome new member of our staff."

Dean was sure he blushed, (again! What was it with the men in this house making him feel all nervous?) but Benny didn't seem phased by it, and simply poured tea for the two of them. 

"I confess, I have not spent much time in the city. Are you finding Briar much different?"

Dean nodded, blowing gently on his tea cup. "And I have not spent much time out of the city until now, but so far it is as different as night and day. My last post seemed comfortable at the time, but compared to here? It was frankly, hectic!"

Benny laughed. "I don't doubt you! The master likes a quiet life here, and hasn't left in years. Young master Novak, I don't believe, has ever left the grounds since arriving as a boy."

Dean blanched. "Never??"

"Not to my knowledge," Benny said comfortably. "His father died before he was born, and he couldn't have been more than six when his mother went. Master Angeles was her only brother, and so he did his duty and took in the child. Though Master Novak was hardly a child again after that, raised in this house with no playmates. Master Angeles is a scholar, and raised his nephew to be one as well, the boy was helping in the library almost as soon as he arrived."

Dean sipped his tea, feeling a pang of sympathy for Castiel. No wonder he was so eager to talk with Dean, insisting on sharing his meals with servants. It was the only distraction the man ever had. It also explained why he was hesitant to run away with Gabriel, despite his obvious yearning to be free of this place. He must know nothing of the outside, nothing at all.

"I'm sorry, I hope I haven't put you off working for him. Master Novak is as good a lord as a servant could ask for. I didn't know his last man well, Mr. Lee was quite a bit older and preferred to keep to himself. But he never complained about his charge, I know that for a fact. Well, except for the strange sleeping habits." Benny leaned in, conspiratorially. "Now this might actually put you off the job, but it's only fair you should be warned."

Dean leaned in as well. "What is it?"

"Master Novak has trouble sleeping. He wakes at the slightest sounds, is plagued with bad dreams, and sometimes even walks about without waking! This is the reason that he prefers to keep his man in the adjoining room. If he is having a rough night, he wants to be able to call out and have someone come to him. When he was a child, Mr. Lee would even sleep in the same bed, as a parent would. Master Angeles put a stop to that sort of behaviour once he found out, however, as he wanted Master Novak to grow up strong. But Mr. Lee would still occasionally sleep on the floor beside the bed, right up until he left the manor, if Master Novak requested it."

Dean sat back uncomfortably. Sleep beside him? Gabriel must not have known, or he would have warned Dean. That was a lot more intimate than anything else he was expected to take care of here. He thought back to the handsome, seemingly carefree man he had met just a few short hours ago. He had seemed well rested and healthy...could he really suffer so at night?

Realising no one had spoken since Benny had finished, Dean took another sip of tea and looked at the other man. "Thank you for the warning. Though I suspect it will be different with me, I am much closer to Castiel's age than Mr. Lee was, and I am also new to the manor. Surely he wouldn't even want such....parental....treatment from me."

"Ah, you may be right." Benny winked. "And it's not like anything not parental could happen in a bed between two handsome young men, is it?"

Dean shifted in his chair, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Was Benny implying what he thought he was implying?

"Oh, but think of the time! It is likely half past twelve now, and I must be clearing this tray and showing you to the library." he stood, and Dean followed suit. 

"Thank you for talking with me today, I appreciated the company." Dean said honestly. Benny winked again, then picked up the tray and headed out, Dean following. 

The library, it turned out, was just one floor down from the rooms Dean and Castiel resided in. The large doors looked thick and heavy, but also spotless. Clearly this was the one area of the house that was tended to constantly. 

Dean waited nervously in the hall, until the clock finally chimed 1pm. As soon as it was finished it's toll, Dean raised his fist and knocked on the doors, before opening them and walking through. 

He noticed Castiel first, sitting at a desk to the left, a small smudge of ink on his nose that Dean had a curious urge to wipe off for him. Castiel looked up and grinned his easy grin, putting down his pen and turning to the other man that Dean had not noticed until he spoke. 

"Stop there, boy! Can't you see the line??"

Dean stopped moving and looked down. Sure enough, there was a large brass line implanted in the floorboards, mere feet from the doorway. Dean had almost stepped on it. 

Castiel shrugged apologetically at Dean, before turning back to the older man. "Uncle, this is Dean Smith, my new manservant. He has come to fetch me."

"Yes yes, just make sure you explain the rules of this library to him. The line is there for a reason, boy!" Dean bit his tongue to keep from sending a sarcastic reply back. He wanted to point out that he couldn't read anyway, and couldn't give less of a fuck what they did in here surrounded by old books, but remembering his place, he simply bowed his head and waited for Castiel to tidy his work space and come meet him.

"I will, Uncle. Now I am leaving. See you at dinner."

Mr. Angeles simply grunted, and Castiel rolled his eyes at Dean, before coming to meet him. Dean moved back to allow Castiel to exit first, then closed the door behind them. 

"I'm sorry about that," Castiel said, nodding his head back at the door. "My uncle prefers all staff to stay out of the library, the line on the floor marks the boundary of where they may enter."

"I understand" Dean said, though he really didn't. "I will watch for it tomorrow."

Castiel grinned again, and they walked together back to the sitting room. 

"So," Castiel started, once their lunch had been served (by Benny, of course). "What did you think of my Uncle?"

Dean paused. "I'm sure he is very clever."

"He is. But that's not your opinion, is it?"

"I have only just met the man. But he seems a gentleman." Dean tried again. Castiel laughed, really laughed at that, his head tossed back while Dean looked on, bemused. 

"Oh he is that as well, in name at least." Castiel chortled. "What do you know of our work?"

"You are compiling a sort of dictionary?" Dean offered. Castiel narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. 

"A sort, I suppose. The result of many year's work. My uncle is very particular, as you have likely noticed, and trusts no one but me to help him with the more....delicate...subject matter."

Delicate matter in a dictionary? Dean shrugged it off. Whatever the bookish old man was working on had no baring on Dean's eventual pay day. 

"You are a dutiful nephew," Dean said instead, taking a careful bite of his lunch. Castiel chuckled yet again. 

"Dutiful. Well, you might say." 

The conversation turned then to talk of the city, and Dean filled Castiel in on what he knew, or suspected about the upper class citizens there. Having met very few of them himself, he was forced to draw on rumours and hearsay, but Castiel lapped it up, clearly none the wiser. Dean talked about theatres that put on grand plays, coaches to take you wherever you needed to go, city manors with such a large staff, the master might not even know all their names. 

Castiel gasped at the last one. "Is that the kind of post you come to me from?"

"Er...." Dean hesitated, trying to remember what Gabriel had told him. "Sort of, I guess. In my younger days, it was, but sadly, as the Rickster fortune is not what it once was, the staff at the manor shrank as well."

Castiel nodded sympathetically. "I understand. Do you miss your position there?"

"I miss my family," Dean said truthfully. "But I am happy to be doing this task. I hope my having steady work will benefit them, ultimately."

Castiel studied Dean carefully before nodding once more. "I hope you will be happy here, Dean."

Dean shivered slightly at the intensity in those blue eyes. This was going to be an interesting experience. 

"I'm sure I will be."

 

After lunch, Castiel insisted on going for a walk outside. Dean helped him into a coat, and exchanged his shoes for a pair of more sturdy boots, his hands fumbling a bit with the laces, never having tied another's shoes before. Castiel didn't seem to notice however, and soon they were off. 

If the house had looked dreary at night, it looked even worse in the day. Now Dean could fully appreciate the tilting chimneys, the climbing creepers, the boarded up windows on the far sides of the manor. Surely it had once been lovely, but years....possibly decades....of disregard had let it fall into disrepair. 

Dean carried a small case for Castiel, though he didn't know what was in it at first. They walked along the grounds, nodding at Rufus who was clipping some hedges. There wasn't much to see out here, just trees and grasses, and Dean soon found himself wishing for the draughty inside, where there was at least a fireplace to stand by when your skin started to feel the chill. 

Castiel was less talkative out here than he was inside, seeming to lose himself in his thoughts. Dean walked beside him, glancing about the grounds, wondering what if anything could catch a man's interest out here. 

They turned into a small area, surrounded by a ring of trees, and Dean looked at Castiel in surprise. They were standing in a small grave yard. 

"It is a son's duty to tend to the grave of his mother, is it not?" Castiel said, catching Dean's eye. "Walk around for a bit, don't watch me." he took the case from Dean and knelt before a white stone with a name and some years printed on it. Dean lingered for a moment, but ultimately gave in to Castiel's request, and wandered amongst the other stones. 

The ground here was harder than the rest of the grounds, and Dean noticed his shoes were growing muddy. They were his only pair too, he sighed, and attempted to scrape the worst of it off in the grass. Naomi surely would love nothing more than an excuse to yell at him over his dirty appearance. 

He glanced at the other stones around him, keeping Castiel visible in the corner of his eye. He couldn't read the names of course, but he assumed they must all be from the Angeles family. That would have been Castiel's mother's name before marriage, would it have not? Same as her brother's.

The thought of brothers brought Dean's mind to Sam. Sam of course wasn't his brother by birth, though he thought him closer than one. They even looked a bit alike, Mary had admitted once. He wondered if the kid missed him. Like Dean, Sam had never known his mother, but unlike Dean, he hadn't had Mary. Sure, she had let him stay as long as Dean had wanted him there, even let him use their last name like Dean did, but she had never treated him like a son, never loved him as she had loved Dean. 

Sam's mother had died in a fire when he was an infant, and his father had left him with Mary. He didn't have the blood of a murderess in his veins the way Dean did, but he had taken to their life of crime with relative ease anyway. He was the one who told Dean that his blood did not define him, he was not bad just because of who his mother had been. Dean still didn't believe him though, and he wondered briefly what Castiel would think if he knew what kind of blood flowed through Dean's veins. Here Castiel was, taking care of his mother's grave, when Dean's mother didn't even have one. They didn't give graves to people that died on the executioner's block. 

"What are you thinking about?" Castiel materialised beside Dean so suddenly, that Dean had to take a step back in shock. Where had he come from?

"Nothing of interest." Dean said. "Are you finished, then?"

"I am. Let's head back inside and warm up."

Dean thought nothing sounded better.


	7. Chapter 7

And so Dean's first weeks at Briar passed, with very little change in his schedule. After that first day, he would rise and go immediately to Castiel after getting dressed, and help the other man get ready for the day. This was almost exactly how he had practised with Gabriel and Sam back at Lant street: he handed Castiel his clothes, then shaved his face for him. Castiel disliked his hair being touched however, and kept it in it's natural messy state. Dean secretly approved; it was something unkempt in this house of strict rules and order. 

The two men would then take their breakfast in Castiel's sitting room, off a tray brought in by Benny. The older, bearded man rarely spoke to them, but would exchange a wink in greeting to Dean when he suspected Castiel wasn't looking. Breakfast was more subdued than anything, Castiel rarely feeling energetic enough to talk until he got some coffee into him. Dean would try to entertain him, remembering his goal of winning Castiel's trust, but found it difficult with such a sleepy, unresponsive partner. Mostly at breakfast, Castiel just seemed happy to have someone there to keep him from going back to bed. 

He would then leave for the library, and Dean would try to find ways to pass the time without him. The dark rooms were undeniably darker without Castiel to lighten them up, and Dean couldn't help but feel slightly depressed during those long morning hours. Benny made a point to always come share tea at noon, which Dean appreciated for the break in monotony such visits offered, but struggled to find common ground with Benny. The older man was a butler from a family of servants, and that was all he knew in the life. Dean Smith of course had the same upbringing, but Dean Winchester could only make up life experiences for so long. 

The afternoons were Dean's favourite. Castiel was always more energetic after lunch, and most days they would go outside. Sometimes Castiel would tend to his mother's grave, while other times they would simply walk about the grounds and talk. Dean found it much easier to talk with this Castiel, and was much more comfortable than with Benny for reasons he was happier not examining. He would share stories of his childhood, often only catching himself at the last minute as he realised he was about to give something away, and shift the story to seem as if it could have happened in a large manor house. Castiel never commented on any discrepancies, only laughing and asking questions. 

Oh could the man ask questions! Dean had to recognise on a daily basis just how little Castiel really knew of the world outside Briar, and he would regularly try to come up with interesting tidbits to feed Castiel's starving imagination. 

"What do gentleman in the city do after they finish working? Is this normal, just walking about with their manservant?" 

Dean hesitated. "I suppose so. Many men have hobbies I guess. There are clubs and gaming houses. Horse racing of course. Some enjoy sports."

Castiel looked into the distance. "My uncle never allowed me such frivolity. He said sports and games were for lesser sorts, not intellectuals like us. Are they very fun?"

"Many think so." Dean also had never cared for sports or clubs, except to appreciate the crowds they drew that could so easily be freed of their belongings by a set of nimble fingers. 

"I almost convinced him once, in my youth, to let me hunt. He agreed to let me learn to ride first, but unfortunately I fell off the horse and hurt my ankle. That seemed to prove to him that scholars had no need for such excessively physical pursuits, and started stressing that exercise should be only for the sake of health, and never more strenuous than a brisk walk." Castiel looked at Dean and grinned conspiratorially. "I secretly had Bobby teach me to ride anyway. I can't go often, but every now and then it's a brilliant escape."

Dean had never sat on a horse in his life, but grinned back anyway. He loved these little rebellious sides that showed themselves occasionally.

"Maybe you could teach me to ride someday, sir."

Castiel's eyes twinkled. "Oh I'd like nothing more."

 

In the evenings, Castiel would leave again to eat with his uncle, and Dean would join the servants in the kitchen. These meals continued to be awkward, as conversation was rare, and when it did occur it felt rather forced. Neither Benny, nor the elusive Luc ever joined them. Even two weeks into his stay and Dean had still not even seen the man. 

"Luc sees himself as better than the rest," Benny confided one day over tea when Dean pressed him about this. "I believe it is because he is the only staff member permitted inside the library. He has to be able to enter of course, to serve Master Angeles when Master Novak has left, but this makes him feel above his station. He prefers to take his meals in his room, and Master allows him this luxury. In exchange for his silence, I presume."

He learned that Hannah did indeed enter Castiel's rooms to clean, but only when he was out on his walk and she rushed the process in case he came back early. She also cleaned Dean's rooms, though he hardly thought it necessary as he did nothing more than sleep there anyway. He learned that Kevin the chef had actually been a prodigy in his youth, and had only ended up at Briar due to extreme circumstances that no one seemed comfortable to reveal. He learned that Bobby had very little work to do, as they only stabled two horses and neither Zachariah nor Castiel ever left the grounds anyway. 

He learned a great many things that would be of interest to a gossipy household, but nothing to help him gain a more thorough understanding of his own charge. Two weeks in, he felt he was making progress in that Castiel seemed more comfortable with him, always friendly and polite, but there remained a firm servant/master barrier between them and Dean had no idea how to breach it. He couldn't even fathom a way to start bringing up Gabriel's idea. 

Sometimes his evenings without Castiel were only an hour or two long. After dinner, Benny would summon him to fetch Castiel, and the two would retreat to his sitting rooms to play at cards by the fire. Other times, Castiel would stay away until it the clock struck 10 or even 11. Those were the evenings Dean dreaded most of all. Naomi told him, disapprovingly of course, that when Mr. Angeles had gentleman visitors over, he liked to have Castiel read to them after dinner. Dean could hardly fault them for this....he could listen to Castiel's deep gravelly voice forever....but he disliked how it kept Castiel from him all evening. In addition, Castiel always returned from these evenings looking pinched and exhausted, his voice hoarse and his eyes hooded, as if he wasn't even really seeing Dean at all. Dean couldn't really imagine what sorts of things Castiel could read to make him feel that way, and instead imagined that the sheer tedium of the experience was damaging. 

It was only on these evenings that Dean started to get a glimpse into the sleeping problems that had been mentioned to him on his first day. He would wake to the sounds of Castiel moaning in his sleep, his bed creaking as he tossed and turned. He never woke though, and never called for Dean as Dean had been warned would happen. Dean would open his door a crack and peer in, wishing there was something he could do to ease the other man's suffering, but not wanting to cross that barrier if it would be unwelcome. 

He would watch until Castiel calmed down, as he always did eventually, then return to his own bed to think fruitlessly of ways he could persuade Castiel to leave with Gabriel. He knew that Gabriel would be returning to Briar in a couple of weeks, and would expect to see some progress made with Castiel. Dean was aware of this timeline, and tried to think of ideas....but even he could not lie to himself that he tried particularly hard. The thought of this sheltered, yet warm and kind man being sent to a city jail was starting to sour his stomach, and he would constantly have to force himself to remember the money he was due. 

On a rainy Wednesday afternoon, the weather too unpleasant for the men to venture out to the grounds, Castiel finally breached the topic himself, catching Dean off guard. 

"Did you speak with Mr. Rickster much before coming to me, Dean?"

Dean thought back to Gabriel's lessons on how to behave, his crowing over the idea of this man getting him out of jail time. "A bit, yes."

"When he was here, we spoke at great length one evening, at one of my uncle's functions." Castiel was looking out the window, watching the rain. Dean took the opportunity to study his face, admiring the clear skin and gleaming white teeth. 

"I hope he was able to hold your interest, sir."

"Castiel."

"Castiel, sir." 

Castiel shot him a glance and grinned. "He was not so interesting as you, I confess. But he did give me some ideas to ponder."

Dean swallowed, puzzled by the strange flip flopping feeling he got in his stomach when Castiel looked at him like that. "I am hardly as interesting as Mr. Rickster. He is a gentleman of some scholarly renown, much as yourself. Surely you two had much to discuss."

Castiel turned to face him full on now. "Dean, I hope you don't truly believe yourself uninteresting. I enjoy our talks very much. You put ideas in my head that I dare say would not be in there otherwise."

Dean's heart was beating faster, he noted curiously. Was Castiel standing closer than usual? "Ideas, sir?"

"I long to hear you talk of the world outside of Briar." Castiel said, his voice going softer. He was definitely standing closer. "You have seen much more of the world than I."

Dean was overcome by a sudden urge to hold the other man close. He was so good, so kind, so sheltered here. If Castiel longed to hear of the world, Dean was surprised to note that he longed to show it to him. He could imagine them now, walking through the city, how Dean would point out the great monuments, the famous locations; how they would dine at fine restaurants, and see the best theatre performances. Dean had never imagined leaving Lant street before, but now he could see himself on a ship with Castiel by his side, off on adventures to anywhere the other man wanted to go. And it could happen, it could be real....with Gabriel's help. 

Dean took a deep breath, and stepped backwards, lowering his eyes from the infinitely deep blue ones he had fallen into. "I've seen only the city as a servant. I imagine Mr. Rickster has seen much more than I, and knows much more. Did he talk with you about such things?"

Castiel studied Dean for a moment longer, the air that had once been so warm between them cooling. He turned back toward the window. "We discussed ways for me to leave here."

His stomach flip flopped again, in a less enjoyable way this time. Guilt. Dean closed his eyes and tried to push the feelings away. "Is that something you would be interested in?"

Castiel didn't respond, and Dean didn't push him for more. Longing to feel the warmth return to the room, he simply stepped forwards once more and stood by Castiel's side, so close their arms brushed ever so slightly together. Every time their hands made contact, Dean felt his skin erupt in gooseflesh. He couldn't remember ever having such a strong reaction to another person, in all his 20 years. They stayed like this until the fire began to die, as Castiel finally broke the silence with a sigh. 

"Dean."

"Yes?"

"If I call for you in the night...would you come to me?"

Dean sucked in his breath and bit his lip, his eyes still staring out the window. "It is my duty to serve you at any time, Castiel sir."

"You have noticed, surely, that I sleep poorly?"

"I have."

Castiel was watching him out of the corner of his eye, but Dean forced himself to keep looking ahead. "I find I sleep better if there is a warm body nearby. I did not wish to burden you so until we knew each other better, but....I ask you now. Nothing untoward, I assure you. I simply....would request your presence."

"Helping you is not a burden to me." Dean answered truthfully. 

"Thank you." Castiel reached out and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. His whole body shivered at the contact. "I will remember this the next time I have a bad night."

Dean finally looked at the other man again, and the moment his green eyes met the blue, he felt the sensation of falling. He could lose himself in those eyes forever, just as he could listen to that voice until he died. How such a perfect, pure being could exist in this world seemed beyond his comprehension. 

Time seemed to slow as they stared at each other, Castiel's hand still resting on Dean's shoulder, the warmth of which could be felt down to his very core. He swore he could almost feel Castiel's breath ghosting across his face, he could hear his heart pounding just as hard as his own, see something hidden in the endless depths of blue, a secret perhaps, that Dean wanted nothing more than to explore, though his logic told him this man had no secrets. He was nothing but a force of good in Dean's otherwise small and ugly life. 

The chime of the clock cut through the afternoon like a shot, and Castiel blinked, pulling away. Dean shook his head as if shaking water from his ears. The spell was broken. 

"Let us go now, it is time for me to meet my Uncle for dinner." Castiel's voice sounded even lower than before, and Dean shivered. 

"Yes, sir." 

 

Three nights passed before Castiel followed through on his request. 

It had been one of the evenings Dean detested so much, where Castiel had been kept from his side until very late, entertaining his Uncle's visitors. He had returned to the rooms withdrawn and sullen, barely speaking as Dean helped him undress and ready himself for bed. He lay down without complaint, as Dean darkened the room of all but the one night light Castiel insisted on having, and only mumbled a "goodnight" when Dean left him. 

It couldn't have been more than an hour later however, when Dean had only just drifted off, that he heard the moaning begin. Dean cracked his eyes open, wondering as usual if there was anything he could possibly do, when he heard the voice he knew so well.

"Dean? Dean??"

Leaping to his feet as if he had been waiting for this sign, Dean pulled open the door and rushed into Castiel's room, wearing only his own nightshirt. He approached the bed and knelt beside it.

"Sir? Castiel? Are you alright?"

"Dean...you are here." Castiel sat up, rubbing his eyes. "I thought....for a moment, I suspected...."

"I am here, of course I am sir. You called for me." Dean reached out to comfort him, but stopped his hand before it made contact. Was this overstepping the boundaries?

Castiel didn't seem to think so, however, and he reached out to clasp Dean's hand. "Dean, I saw demons tonight. Monsters. They want me, I know they do, they want to drag me to hell with them."

Dean had no idea what he meant. "shh, Sir, it was just a dream."

"A dream?" Castiel whispered, squeezing Dean's hand tighter. "No, this was no dream. I see them far too often to be a dream, though I would give anything to have it be as you say!"

"Only a dream sir, trust me. There are no demons here in your room, look around." He gestured with his free hand, but Castiel grabbed it as well, squeezing and looking only at Dean's face. 

"No, they are not here. They can not come if you are here." Castiel bit his lip, looking down, then shyly looked back at Dean. "Will you stay here with me tonight?"

Dean recalled what Benny had said about Castiel's old manservant sleeping on the floor. "Allow me to fetch some pillows, and I shall...."

"No!" Castiel pulled Dean closer. "I mean....here with me. You may share my bed. Please, Dean? If you are here, they can not come. And I can keep you safe....I will watch over you."

Dean's body made it's choice long before Dean's brain caught up, and before he knew what was happening, he was crawling into bed beside Castiel. 

Dean had of course shared a bed before. With Mary when he was a boy, then later with Sam, who would come to him when he had a nightmare; always Dean, never Mary or John. Occasionally when one of Mary's infants would not stop crying, Dean would even help by taking the baby to bed with him. Mary would say that Dean was a natural, even as John snorted that such actions would make Dean soft. Dean didn't care though, he liked to feel needed, liked to feel that he could help. He held Sam, he held the babies, and now he held Castiel. 

Nothing had ever filled Dean's arms however the way Castiel did. No younger almost brother, no parent, no orphaned infant could ever feel the same way. Castiel curled into him, and Dean wrapped his arms around the man's back, feeling every single point where their bodies touched, where their night clothes touched, where their skin touched. Castiel lay his head on Dean's chest and Dean felt where Castiel's hair tickled his chin. The warmth that seemed to fill the air when the two men looked at each other, now filled the bed they shared. It embraced the two men, enclosed them in a pocket of warmth, before pooling in Dean's stomach in a foreign way that was nonetheless starting to grow familiar to him. Castiel never stopped having that effect. 

Not another word was spoken, and Dean drifted off to sleep shortly after Castiel. 

When Dean awoke the next morning, he noticed that Castiel had not moved throughout the night, but remained clinging to him, his head moving every so slightly up and down with the rise and fall of Dean's chest. The pale sunlight danced across his cheeks, and Dean smiled at the slight fluttering of eyelashes. Feeling more comfortable than he could remember feeling in a long time, he reached out and brushed Castiel's hair back off his forehead. Castiel scrunched up his nose, then cracked an eye open, looking up at Dean. 

"Good morning." he whispered, softy. 

"Good morning." Dean responded, just as softly. Dean felt the shift in their relationship, as sure as anything. He couldn't explain it just now, but something had changed. 

"I hope I didn't disturb you. You are so good to have stayed with me."

"As long as you need me." Dean replied. A faint ghost of a smile appeared on Castiel's face, and he squeezed Dean in a quick hug before pulling away.

"I suppose I should rise now. I wouldn't want to keep Benny waiting." Dean helped Castiel shave and dress, before taking care of those needs for himself, and when the two sat down for breakfast, it was much more companionable than usual. Castiel's usual morning grumpiness seemed lessened, (amazing what a good night's sleep can do! Dean privately thought) and the two of them talked comfortably until it was time to take Castiel to the library. 

Castiel called for Dean that night too, and the following night as well. Before long, Dean had given up even going to his own bed, and began spending each night with Castiel in his arms. While it was reminiscent of the nights he'd spent with Sam, there was nothing brotherly about Dean's feelings towards these nights. He just knew that keeping Castiel happy was becoming his highest priority. 

This began to show in other areas as well. He took over cleaning from Hannah, so he could be sure that Castiel's rooms were in their best state. He was not as familiar with the act of scrubbing, to be sure, but he was motivated and he began to develop a sense of pride in taking care of Castiel's things. He taught Castiel some new card games, ones he had played back at Lant street, and Castiel delighted in the new choices he now had. Dean couldn't remember offering the other man his arm when they walked outside, but one day he realised that they walked arm in arm as they wandered the grounds. 

As Dean opened up more to Castiel, Castiel began opening more to him. He still refused to teach Dean to read, but he offered sometimes to read stories in the evenings. Dean felt bad asking, as Castiel always seemed so tired on nights he read to the gentlemen, but Castiel insisted that this was different. He enjoyed watching Dean's expressions as he listened to stories for the first time. He also began pointing out different features of the grounds, explaining the plants, the trees, and had seemingly endless patience for Dean's lack of knowledge. 

"You're not dunce, Dean." Castiel told him one afternoon when Dean failed to spot the difference between two types of trees. "You simply never learned. I am happy to teach you."

And each night they would whisper to each other before bed, giggling like children, as they talked of nothing and yet everything. Dean confessed that he could never see a life outside the one he had always been told he should have, and Castiel empathised thoroughly. Castiel confessed that he had never been close with someone before, and had always wished for a brother. 

"I have a brother." Dean said thoughtlessly, when Castiel had mentioned this. 

"You do?" Castiel looked up from where he lay on Dean's chest, looking at the other man curiously. "I was under the impression that you were the only son of Mr. Rickster's old nanny."

Dean froze as he realised his mistake, his brain whirring to come up with a plausible explanation. "Er...yes. I guess he is not my real brother." This much was true, anyway. "But we grew up together, he is only a few years younger than me. We are...were...very close."

"Oh." Castiel looked away. "Were?"

"I guess we still are. But it's hard, when I'm out here. I miss him. I hope he is being treated well." Dean thought back to Lant street. Surely Mary and John wouldn't toss Sam out just because Dean wasn't there, would they?

"I would like to meet your brother someday." Castiel murmured, settling his head back on Dean's chest. Dean's heart swelled at the thought of Castiel and Sam meeting someday. Perhaps all three of them could go on an adventure together, explore the world....

"I would like that too." Dean whispered. 

"I am so happy you came here," Castiel said in the same quiet voice. "The hours I spend with my uncle have become so much more tedious now that I know the alternative is to spend time with you."

Dean couldn't agree more.

Two more weeks passed in this fashion, and Dean was sure this was the happiest he had ever been in his life. He barely even realised that more than a month had passed since he came to Briar.

But then Gabriel came.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean and Castiel were playing one of Dean's card games, and Dean was losing spectacularly. Castiel thought this was hilarious and kept teasing Dean about his poor skills, while Dean was pretending to be offended. The fire hadn't been lit that day, as it was unusually warm, but unusually for the afternoon, Dean and Castiel had not yet ventured outside, having lost themselves in their game shortly after finishing their lunch. 

A knock at the door startled the two out of their fun, as they had temporarily forgotten anyone else existed. 

"Enter!" Castiel called, as Dean threw down his cards in disgust. There was no way to salvage the game for himself. 

Benny came in, carrying a letter on a silver tray. "This has just arrived for you, Master Novak."

Castiel's brow furrowed, and he leapt to his feet, snatching the letter from the tray without a word. Dean shuffled the cards, watching curiously. In almost 5 weeks, he had never seen Castiel receive any mail. 

He saw Castiel rip it open and unfold it in a rush, then his brow furrowed even more as his eyes darted back and forth across the page. He glanced up at Dean, then turned his back away, as if to read it in private. That's when Dean realised who it must be from, and he felt a horrible sinking sensation. He shuffled the cards even harder, almost angrily, as if they had done him a great injustice. It had become so easy to be here, he had all but forgotten his reason for coming, and now it was about to collapse around him. 

"It is from Mr. Rickster." Castiel said, a strange edge to his voice that Dean had never heard before.

"I hope he sends good news." Dean said, aware that his own voice was flat sounding as well. 

"The best. For my uncle, that is." Castiel winced and looked away, folding the letter surreptitiously. "He is coming back to Briar, and will arrive tomorrow. My uncle has been waiting for Mr. Rickster's return so that he may finally get his pieces mounted."

Dean continued shuffling the cards, wondering if there was anything he could say that wouldn't betray how he really felt about this turn of events. He finally settled on "I guess you'll be glad as well for his help in your work."

Castiel nodded, shoving the letter clumsily into his pocket, and heading over toward his favourite staring window. Dean glanced up at him, feeling the bubble of comfort they had developed around themselves all but burst into nothingness. Gabriel was coming tomorrow. Dean remembered the plan from here: Gabriel would stay for one month, then he was expecting to leave, Castiel and Dean in tow. One month. That was all Dean had left here. 

"Hey, Cas." Dean shuffled the cards again, carefully stacking the deck as he'd learned back at Lant street. "Did you know that cards can tell your future?"

Castiel's eyes widened, but if he noticed Dean's slip with the casual nickname, he made no mention of it. "I thought that was just for gypsy fortune tellers."

"Well, don't tell Naomi or Benny, but my grandmother was a gypsy princess," Dean winked. It could be true, he supposed, who knew WHAT his grandmother had been like. "Want me to tell your fortune?"

Castiel smiled, though a smaller and more withdrawn one than Dean had grown used to seeing on his face, then came and sat down. "Sure, show me what you know."

Dean flipped over the first two cards in the deck: the jack of hearts and the three of spades. "Hmm, sad cards. This one is a young man, full of love but with nowhere to nurture it. An orphan, with no siblings. And here we see a struggle, the beginning of strife. This is your past."

Castiel's brow furrowed again, looking much like he did when he read Gabriel's letter. "Go on."

"The next cards show your present." Dean flipped the next three. "The king of diamonds: a stern old man, rich but not truly wealthy in matters of life. The 5 of clubs: a parched mouth, someone yearning for more than this life, dreaming of something better. The Jack of spades...." Dean trailed off, and Castiel looked at him.

"Who is the jack of spades? Dean?"

"A young man with a plan, a vision for the future. A good man, trustworthy." The words felt like sandpaper in Dean's throat. Gabriel was anything but trustworthy. "Now your future."

He turned up the six of spades. "A journey! Perhaps a trip with Mr. Angeles? Or a journey of the heart...." Dean trailed off, looking up at Castiel, who was now watching him instead of the cards. 

"My uncle never takes me anywhere," he said slowly. Dean nodded before he realised what he was doing. Castiel exhaled slowly, then looked back at the cards. "Is that it then?"

"One more," Dean said, coming back to himself. He flipped the next one and saw...

"The jack of diamonds? Who is that, Dean?"

Dean didn't know. He had meant to show the two of hearts, signifying unity, a connection to be formed that would be beneficial, in life or love. He looked about himself quickly, wondering where the card had gotten to. 

"Dean?"

"The Jack of diamonds....another young man. And a promise....of great wealth." Dean finished lamely. That was not what the card meant at all. 

"Great wealth...." Castiel said slowly, his blue eyes sinking into Dean's green as they had done so many times now. "I don't believe you."

Dean swallowed, staring back at him, his urge to tell the truth warring with his loyalty to his family and his promise of bringing them home a fortune. He thought quickly of Sam, how he could make sure the kid never had to steal again if he didn't want to...how Mary could stop farming babies if she wanted to...maybe they could even move to a nicer house....

"The cards don't lie." Dean said at last, taking them up and shuffling again. 

"Well I don't believe it anyway." Castiel stood up and walked back toward the window. Dean spotted the two of hearts then: it had fallen to the ground and Castiel had stepped on it, leaving a large crease. Dean would always know that card from that day on, every time they sat down to play together. 

 

Gabriel arrived with little to no fanfare. It was mid afternoon, and Dean and Castiel were out walking the grounds, arm in arm as usual, when they heard the distinct sound of a horse cart in the drive. Castiel gasped and dropped Dean's arm immediately, before heading at a brisk pace toward the front of the house. Dean followed, all of his energy going into making his face appear neutral. 

Castiel stopped at the side of the front door, just down from Benny who was waiting to greet their guest as expected. He shot Dean a questioning look, asking about Castiel with his eyes, but Dean just shrugged. He didn't really understand what Castiel knew, or thought he knew, about Gabriel or what his actual feelings toward the man were. 

Gabriel climbed down from the cart much more gracefully than Dean had all those weeks ago, and swept his hat from his head with a flourish before reaching out and grasping Castiel's hand in a hearty handshake. 

"Cassie, my boy! Wonderful to be back here at good old Briar, wonderful indeed! How have you been?"

"Very well, thank you" Castiel said, pulling his hand from Gabriel's. "And please don't call me 'Cassie'". 

"Of course, of course." Gabriel winked, then looked over at Dean. "And Dean-o! The country air is doing you well. I hope you are serving your new master as best you can?"

"I hope that as well, sir." Dean bowed his head respectfully, while running through a long litany of curses he had learned over the years, trying to best decide which one he's most love to lob at the arrogant man standing before him. 'You shrivelled dick of a fishmonger' seemed appropriate, perhaps.

"Yes, Dean is working out splendidly, thank you so much for your recommendation. I could not be more pleased with him." Castiel said, looking fondly at Dean for a moment before returning his eyes to Gabriel. "I can't believe your family was so willing to give him up, he goes above and beyond what an average manservant would do."

"Does he now?" Gabriel rubbed his chin, a slight smirk on his lips. Dean hated him more than he had ever hated anyone, the good times they had shared at Lant street long forgotten. 

"Just doing my job." He said, hoping the others couldn't hear the disdain in his voice. Gabriel's smirk grew more pronounced, but he didn't seem eager to spend any more time on Dean. 

"Shall we head on inside? Dean can help your other men carry my luggage, I do believe I brought half the city's art supplies with me! Castiel, I should like to speak with your Uncle right away about his plans for the prints and what I can do to help."

"Of course, I shall take you to him now." Castiel made the after you motion with his arm, and the two headed inside without a backwards glance. Dean bristled. 'Shrivelled dick of a fishmonger' suddenly seemed too tame for Gabriel. 'Syphilitic toad' perhaps was more fitting.

"Mr. Smith? Are you going to help?" Benny called, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. He nodded and hurried over to grab some bags. 

Everything felt slightly different from that day on. Briar bustled, more lively than it had been in Dean's memory, revitalised perhaps by a long term gentleman guest. Kevin was outdoing himself on the dishes he was preparing, and the servants were gorging themselves on the extras and leftovers. Naomi was snapping at anyone who dared leave a speck of dirt somewhere that Gabriel might see it, and Hannah was to be found cleaning at all hours of the day. They all spoke of Gabriel, how kind and good he was, how well bred, how he knew the proper treatment of a servant. If Dean had told them the truth, what Gabriel meant to do with Castiel, how he wanted to rob him blind and put him in jail, they would have believed Dean the mad one. They'd always believe someone like Gabriel over someone like Dean. Not even Benny was immune, as one day his beard disappeared from his face, and he guiltily admitted to Dean over lunch that it was in an attempt to appear more modern and fashionable to Gabriel. 

That was the other large change: Castiel was suddenly expected to be available to either entertain, or aid Gabriel for much longer hours than he usually kept for his Uncle. Benny started bringing Dean a tray of food instead of just tea, sometimes with word from Castiel expressing his apologies. He no longer had Dean fetch him from the library either, as he never knew when he would be free to leave it, and instead would simply show up at his rooms at any surprising hour. Sometimes Dean would not see him from breakfast until hours after dinner had been served. 

Castiel seemed more tired of late, but also more upbeat. He and Dean continued to share Castiel's bed, and he would whisper late into the evening about things Gabriel had said, things they had done together. Dean would spend the evening clutching Castiel still tighter, wrestling with the flare of jealousy that burned every time Castiel spoke his name. When Castiel would finally drift to sleep, his head on Dean's chest as usual, Dean would lay awake cursing Gabriel with all of his being. With Castiel being kept away from him all day, he didn't know how he could be expected to keep up his end of the deal anyway, which made him feel even more bitter at having been sucked into this whole scheme. Castiel was kind and trusting, and all he wanted was something interesting in his life. Gabriel was new and interesting right now, Dean understood. But he was surely the devil in disguise to this man, and Dean wished for nothing more than the ability to tell him. It was only the thought of Sam and Mary that kept his lips sealed. 

It was almost a full 10 days later when Dean found a chance to speak with Gabriel in private. Castiel sent word through Benny, asking Dean to bring him a certain book that had been left by Castiel's bed. Dean knocked on the heavy library doors before entering, careful to mind the line, but was surprised to see Gabriel alone in there. 

"Mr. Smith! You got the message I see!" Gabriel grinned and jumped up, coming right close to Dean, close enough Dean flinched, bracing himself for the worst, but Gabriel merely closed the door behind Dean. The library fell silent as the sounds of the house vanished. 

"Ugh, finally we can drop the act. The old man and the pretty boy went out to examine a large piece that couldn't quite fit in here. They've actually barred off the old man's sitting room from the servants until they can figure out what to do with it, can you believe it?" Gabriel chuckled. "The lengths these idiots go to to keep their staff ignorant. So anyways, how has it been going here?"

"Fine. I'm doing what you told me to, though just like I said before, I'm not entirely sure what the point is. Cas seems perfectly ready to go somewhere if you find the right incentive."

"Cas, eh?" Gabriel's eyes twinkled. "I think you're becoming fond of the boy. Don't get too attached, Dean-o, Mrs. Winchester would be awfully upset if you backed out of our deal and came home without your big fat pay cheque. Remember, he's just a soft, slightly simple, fancy boy. We only need him for his cash."

"He's not simple, he's a scholar!" Dean argued, his temper flaring. "You barely even know him. Anyway, I haven't forgotten, I just think it's stupid. We're punishing him just because he has money."

"Oh, if only you knew what he studied in here...." Gabriel laughed. "But it hardly matters for you anyway. I must say, I am impressed with how well you've taken to this role, I might have to get you to act for me again someday."

"Bite me," Dean shot back. "When this is done, I hope I never have to see your face again."

"My face? What the hell did I do to you?" Gabriel's good-natured look slid away, leaving him looking very ugly indeed. "Need I remind you that I'm the one who brought you in to this, and I'm the one who will be giving you your cut? You want out? Fine, go running back to Lant street, look Mr. and Mrs. Winchester in the eye and tell them you came home with nothing. See how fond of you they are then." Gabriel leaned closer, sneering. "See how eager they are to keep Sam around, once you can't even do one simple thing to help them keep him clothed and fed."

Dean's heart sank into his stomach. Gabriel had him and he knew it. Sam....Sam was his weak spot. He was fully aware that Mary and John would need no excuse to kick him to the streets. Is that really how they would react if Dean came home without his money?

"I'm not backing out." Dean said, glaring at Gabriel. "I'm just letting you know, I think this plan of yours is disgusting and cruel."

"Objection noted and quickly forgotten." Gabriel leaned back, his trademark smirk back in place. "Three more weeks, Dean-o. That's all I'm asking for. Just three more weeks and you can go home and play with your brother, shower your adopted folks in riches, and pretend none of this ever happened. Castiel will survive. We're not sentencing him to death or anything. In a few years, you'll forget this even happened."


	9. Chapter 9

"Dean, I'm going to teach you to ride" Castiel announced on a rare sunny afternoon. Gabriel had run to the village on some errand, giving Castiel an afternoon of freedom. 

Dean looked up in surprise. He had been enjoying having Castiel around this afternoon, and wasn't eager to leave the privacy of the sitting room, especially for the grounds where they might see Gabriel upon his return to the manor. But at the same time, he couldn't deny that he was curious about being on horseback, and hadn't forgotten Castiel's suggestion from ages ago about teaching him. 

"Really? Today?"

"Yes, right now!" Castiel grinned and Dean felt his heart swell. There was no way he could say no to something that made Castiel's face light up like that. "Let's change our clothes, and go out, while the weather is still beautiful!"

Dean flushed. "I...I don't really have any other clothes." Truly, he had been wearing the same three shirts and trousers for the entirety of his stay, rotating between them.

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Oh...good point. I guess you will have to wear some of mine! Come here!" He grabbed Dean's hand and pulled him through to the bedroom.

Flinging open the door, Castiel rifled through his outfits, pushing aside items that he deemed unsuitable. Dean flinched a bit as he thought of the work he had put into making that wardrobe neat, but supposed cleaning it again would give him a way to fill his Castiel-free hours later. Finally Castiel stood up, triumphantly waving a matching pair of riding shirts and pants. 

"I do have two of these! You're a bit leaner than I am, but they should do alright. Come here, let's get you dressed." 

"Here, Cas, I can do it." Dean reached for the clothes, but Castiel held them out of reach, laughing. 

"Nope, not today! Today I am the servant and you are the gentleman! Now come on, sir, raise your arms so we can take off your shirt!"

Dean stared at Cas, but was again unwilling to deny the man anything that seemed to make him so happy. Trembling slightly, he lifted his arms into the air. 

Castiel approached him, his grin shifting into a much more intense look as he placed his hands on Dean's hips. They rested there just for a moment before grasping the hem of the shirt and pulling it over his head, but Dean swore he could still feel where they had sat. 

Feeling slightly exposed in only his undershirt, he reached once again for the riding shirt, but once more Castiel held it out of reach. Locking his eyes onto Deans, Castiel grabbed his own shirt and pulled it off in one fluid motion. 

Dean felt a rush unlike any he had ever experienced before. He had seen Castiel in a state of undress many times by now....daily in fact....and had even helped him bathe. But those times seemed formal, more like work, and he hadn't paid much attention. This time however...he could see all the muscles in Castiel's arms, in his chest under his shirt. Where did they come from, how did he get muscles like that after spending all day in a library?? He could make out Castiel's nipples through the thin fabric, and he felt his blood rush downwards. He gulped and looked away, desperate to think of anything else, to fix his problem before Castiel noticed it. 

"Arms up, Dean" Castiel said quietly, much closer to Dean's ear than he's expected. Dean shivered and raised his arms, allowing Castiel to pull the shirt on for him. Dean didn't watch as Castiel put his own shirt on, still focused on keeping his lower body under control. Luckily, Castiel seemed to tire of his role playing game and let Dean change his own trousers, which he did as quickly as he could while Castiel did the same, though Castiel did insist on making sure the shirt was tucked in evenly on all sides. Hooking his arm through Dean's, he led them to stand in front of the mirror on the wardrobe door. 

"Look at us," he laughed softly. "We could be brothers!"

Dean's stomach twisted at that. "Yeah, brothers." He looked away. The last thing he wanted to be was Castiel's brother. 

They changed into riding boots as well, then headed out the door, Castiel in the lead. He marched with confidence toward the stables, where Dean had never actually been, and hailed Bobby before they even arrived. 

"Mr. Singer! Hello there!" 

Bobby looked up in surprise, taking in the two of them in their matching outfits. "Master Novak! Mr. Smith! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I wish to ride today." Castiel announced, coming up to stand in front of Bobby. "And Dean here has never ridden before, so I intend to teach him."

Bobby raised his eyebrows. "If that is your wish, I shall saddle the horses at once."

"Thank you, Mr. Singer." Castiel grinned again at Dean, the sunlight helping to light up his whole face. Dean could only stare. Castiel's riding pants hugged his body perfectly, and Dean was using all of his energy to resist putting his hands on the world's most amazingly formed buttocks. He was going to have a problem again soon if he kept with this train of thought, but he couldn't seem to stop it. 

Fortunately, it was only a few minutes later that Bobby returned, leading two large horses. "Here you are, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Singer. I will take it from here, I am looking forward to passing on some knowledge to Dean." Castiel laughed, and Bobby smiled good naturedly. 

"As you say, Master Novak. I will be in the barn if you need anything." He handed the reins to Castiel and headed back inside. Castiel led the horses to where Dean stood, fighting back his nerves. He never really appreciated how large the animals were, until they stood right in front of him. 

"This girl here is called Charlie," Castiel gestured to the one with the auburn coat, "and this grey one is Chuck. He's a bit skittish, but more easy going than Charlie who can be a bit more of a challenge. Here, why don't you take Chuck's reins?"

Dean reached for them awkwardly and Castiel grinned, then adjusted how Dean held them. They walked together a bit, heading away from the barn, letting Dean get used to the horse, and vice versa. Once they reached the small grouping of trees that marked the boundary to the grave yard, Castiel stopped and tied his horse to a tree. 

"Ok, let's get you sitting on Chuck!" he demonstrated the proper way to grip the saddle, how best to swing oneself on, how to position oneself once astride. He did it once, twice, three times until Dean finally felt up to trying for himself. 

His first attempt to mount failed spectacularly. Chuck seemed to doubt Dean's abilities, and as soon as Castiel let go of the reins, he had started walking forward, leaving Dean stumbling after him while Castiel laughed. 

His second attempt saw him off the ground before Chuck started walking away, sending Dean tumbling back to the ground while Castiel laughed even harder and went to bring Chuck back. 

On his third attempt, Dean somehow ended up flat on his back, his foot still in the stirrup, Castiel holding Chuck to keep him still, yet doubled over clutching his stomach from laughing so hard. 

"Dean, you have to stop doing this, my sides will split!" he managed, wiping tears from his eyes. 

"Oh, you think it's funny to see me bruised and covered in mud?" Dean shot back, freeing his foot and standing up. 

Castiel just nodded, chortling to himself. Dean stomped his foot, forgetting himself for a moment. "It's hard, ok?? I've never tried this before!"

"I know, I know" Castiel grinned. "Here, I'll help you more." 

He tied Chuck to a tree, after explaining to Dean why that was generally a horrible idea and would only be done this once, then came around behind him. "Ok, put your hands here," he gestured at the edges of the saddle. Dean did, very aware of how close Castiel was standing behind him. "Now your foot goes here," Castiel reached down and cupped Dean's calf, helping it rise into the stirrup. Dean gulped, the warmth of Castiel's hand seeping through his trouser leg. 

"This far I can do," he said, aware that his voice caught a bit when he started speaking. "It's what's next that causes me to struggle."

"Ok, we're going to count to three. I want you to give a little hop on each one to work up some momentum, then on three put all your weight into the stirrup, pulling yourself upright, got it?"

"Umm...."

"One!"

Dean jumped a little, feeling foolish.

"Two!"

He jumped a little higher, wondering what embarrassment he would face next. 

"Three!"

Dean gasped out loud as Castiel's hands came to rest on his backside, pushing him upwards. He almost fell back again, but Castiel supported him, pushing him up and forwards, and Dean had no choice but to fling himself forwards, right onto the back of the horse. He fumbled to pull his other leg over, and was sure he looked ridiculous, but that was hardly his most pressing concern at the moment. Shoving his feet into the stirrups, he covered himself with his hands as soon as he felt secure, praying that Castiel hadn't noticed the situation that bloomed in his lap the moment Castiel's hands had been on him. 

This was the third time this had happened, Dean thought furiously, trying desperately to will himself down again. Why did Castiel have such an effect on him??  
Castiel said nothing, if he even noticed, and instead went around to untie Chuck's reins and hand them to Dean. Climbing onto his own horse in one fluid motion, he pulled her up beside Chuck and Dean, and grinned. 

"Alright, you made it up! Let's go for a nice easy walk now. Charlie can lead pretty well, so just trust Chuck to stay behind her. If he tries to eat the grass, pull his reins hard to keep his head up, he doesn't need the extra food."

"Ok..." Dean said nervously. Castiel clapped him on the leg, then moved Charlie ahead and started walking. 

Dean stared down at his own horse, thankful that his nerves had helped with his problem before, but at a loss now. How did he make it move? Charlie and Castiel were pulling ahead, and Dean and Chuck were just standing dumbly by the trees. 

"Um....go?" Dean ventured awkwardly. He tried shaking the reins, tried pushing with his thighs. Finally he squeezed his feet together and almost fell backwards as Chuck started forward. Struggling to maintain his balance, despite Chuck's slow pace, Dean leaned forward. This turned out to be a mistake, as Chuck responded to the movement by moving faster. 

Castiel turned around and grinned again. "Hey, you got it by yourself! Nice going!" 

"Yeah, thank's for the help, Teacher!" Dean called back sarcastically. Castiel just laughed. 

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that the best way to learn is by doing? Squeeze your heels to go, pull the reins tight to stop......pull the right one to come back!" he laughed again, and Dean shot him a furious look; for sure enough Chuck had decided he was bored of following Charlie, and started meandering at a lazy pace to the left of where Castiel was going, pointedly ignoring Dean's commands to turn back. 

The afternoon passed before Dean truly felt comfortable on the horse, but Castiel assured him that was normal for a first try. Hooking their arms together, as they had done before Gabriel interrupted their Briar afternoons, they left the the horses with Bobby and headed back to the manor. Dean was sweaty and filthy from his time spent on the ground, though Castiel didn't seem to mind. Despite spending just as much time on the horse as Dean, he looked the picture of a gentleman, fresh off a leisurely ride. Dean supposed that truly was the case for him. 

Gabriel apparently had not returned yet, so Castiel led Dean right up to his rooms. "You require a bath." He stated, before ringing for Benny. 

"A bath?" Dean frowned and looked down at himself. Yes, he probably could use one, though it hadn't really been a priority of his since coming to Briar. He had mostly just washed in the basin. 

"Of course. Benny, can you please prepare a bath for Mr. Smith?" Dean looked up, not having noticed Benny entering the room. 

"Of course, sir. Shall we set it up in his rooms?"

"No, here is fine."

Benny bowed and left the room, and Dean looked at Castiel in surprise. "Here?"

"Of course, it's much more spacious than your tiny room. You bathe me in here anyway, what difference does it make?" Castiel headed for the bedroom. "I think I will dress myself now. No offence, but you're filthy and I don't want you touching my clean clothes." He grinned good naturedly, then disappeared through the doorway. 

Dean barely had time to contemplate what this meant when the main door opened again and Rufus and Benny entered, carrying a large bathtub between them. They set it on the floor by the window, the same spot where Castiel took his baths, and almost immediately after it was set down, Hannah and Naomi entered each carrying two steaming buckets of water. A few more trips and the tub was full, the servants marching out of the room without so much as glancing at Dean. 

He stood awkwardly by the tub, wondering if he should climb in now or wait for Castiel to come back. He dipped his hand in....the water did feel wonderful. But surely Castiel wouldn't want to come back into the room and find Dean naked and washing himself? 

Castiel came back into the room just then and huffed his annoyance. "Dean, just climb into the tub! What are you waiting for?"

Blushing slightly, Dean turned his back to the other man and began loosening his shirt. He heard Castiel sigh, then approach him, putting his arms on Dean's hips again. Dean sucked in his breath and closed his eyes. 

"Want me to be the servant again?" Castiel whispered into Dean's ear. Dean didn't trust himself to respond, but Castiel didn't seem to need one. He reached around, pulling Dean's shirt out of the trousers, then smoothly lifting it over his head. Dean raised his arms dutifully, helping the process along. Castiel repeated it for Dean's undershirt, then turned him around to face him.

Completely bare chested, Dean bit his lip and tried not to look into Castiel's eyes, knowing what that would do to him. He looked down instead, and saw Castiel reaching a hand out, as if to touch Dean's chest...but stopped it right before it made contact, and instead dipped down to loosen Dean's pants. 

Dean gulped and looked up this time, trying not to think about who it was sliding his trousers down past his thighs, letting them fall in a heap on the floor. 

"You'll have to step out of those," Castiel said, his voice about an octave lower than usual, sending a spark right through Dean. He hissed softly, then did what Castiel said, kicking off his socks and shoes as he went. Dressed only in his shorts now, he reached for them himself, locking eyes with Castiel for a brief moment. Was he imagining that they were darker than usual, pupils blown wide as they took in the sight of Dean's body?

He pulled them off and climbed, naked, into the tub hoping his arousal wasn't as noticeable as he feared. Castiel turned and left the room, leaving Dean to let out a quick sigh of relief, but he was back seconds later with a wash cloth. 

Dean gasped out loud as Castiel kneeled beside the tub, dipping the cloth in. Surely he didn't mean to actually bathe him??

"Relax, Dean." Castiel murmured. He ran the cloth up and down Dean's back, and Dean stifled a moan. It felt so wonderful, relaxing and yet erotic at the same time. Castiel started with his shoulders, running the cloth along the left, than right, rising up to get the back of his neck when he passed it. His other hand chased the cloth, sliding across Dean's wet skin, leaving goosebumps in it's wake. He dipped the cloth down Dean's arms next, once again going from left to right, stopping only to add more soap. Reaching his forearms, Castiel pulled each one out of the water, holding Dean's wrist while he worked the cloth up and down. Dean couldn't tear his eyes away from Castiel's face, eyes squinting as he concentrated on getting Dean clean. 

Coming back to the shoulders, Castiel looked up and met Dean's eyes, keeping his hands still for just a moment before letting them slip down to Dean's chest. He stifled another moan as Castiel's cloth and hand caressed down to his stomach and back up, flitting gently over his nipples before slipping back down, even dipping playfully into his bellybutton, before ghosting gently over to his hips. Dean continued staring at Castiel, hoping he wasn't about to discover the secret Dean was hiding beneath the water...but just as the thought entered his mind, Castiel's hands moved forward from Dean's hips, and brushed ever so slightly against Dean's solid, hard arousal. 

Castiel gasped, and Dean pulled himself to the side, face turning beet red as he turned away, trying to hide from Castiel, wishing the tub would just open up and swallow him whole. 

His brain stammering, Dean tried to think of something, anything to say. Castiel was having none of it however; reaching with more confidence then before, he brought his hands back to Dean's hips, bringing Dean back down to his sitting position, then looking Dean right in the eyes, brought his hand to Dean's cock. 

Dean stared for a moment, eyes wide. "Cas...." he whispered, but Castiel just shook his head; then started moving his hand up and down. 

Dean let out a moan, his head falling back against the back of the tub, but Castiel pulled one hand out of the water and grabbed the back of Dean's head, yanking him back to look at him. Blue eyes locked onto green, and Castiel began to move his hand faster, the oils that had been added to the water helping keep the motion slick and smooth. Dean's mouth fell open as his breathing increased. He had never felt anything like this, had no words to describe it. The girls he had fooled around with back in the day were nothing, nothing, compared to this feeling right now. He felt every tug, every pull, every slide of Castiel's hands. He felt his breath on his face, and realised how close Castiel had pulled them together, practically leaning into the tub to get the best angle, to get closer to Dean. His blue eyes were almost totally black now with lust, and Dean couldn't keep his voice down as he felt something hot pooling in his groin, his release fast approaching. 

"Oh god, Cas..." he moaned, biting his lip, still keeping his eyes locked on the other man.

"Yes Dean, come on, come for me." Castiel whispered, his deep rough voice sending chills down Dean's spine, and he cried out, his orgasm catching him at last. 

Castiel helped him through it, then pulled his hand out of the water, shaking it slightly first to clear off any hints of come. "You should get out, the water won't help you get clean now." he said, turning away to grab the nearby towel. He dried his hands off first, then held it out to Dean, who took it as he reluctantly climbed out of the tub. Wrapping it around himself, he continued looking at Castiel's face, trying to find answers there. What exactly had just happened?? 

Castiel stared back, a calm expression betrayed only by the sharp glint in his eyes. Blue and green once again locked to each other, as the warm bubble surrounded them once more, this time crackling with a new sense of electricity, broken only by the sudden toll of the clock. 

Castiel jumped up. "Oh, I will be late to my uncle!" grabbing his shoes and checking his reflection quickly, he ran for the door, stopping just before exiting and turning around. "....Get dressed I guess? And wait for me here. Please. When Benny comes to clean this up, tell him I said you could have dinner in my rooms. I want to....I should....."

"Go to your uncle." Dean said, his voice wavering a bit. "You know he dislikes being made to wait."

Castiel stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Just please, wait for me here. I will try to leave as soon as possible." 

Then he was gone, and Dean stared after him, his heart pounding in his chest, water still dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. He could almost hear Gabriel's voice in his head, "Get close to him, gain his friendship...." 

Well he had gained his friendship alright, but Castiel had also gained his. And therein lay the problem. Dean knew he should get dressed, get cleaned up, summon someone to take care of the tub, but he was frozen in place, his mind numb. Only one single thought pierced the fog surrounding him: what happens now??


	10. Chapter 10

Despite Castiel's request, Dean went downstairs and took his dinner in the kitchen with the other servants. He was starting to feel like one more second in Castiel's rooms, breathing the scent of him, feeling the ghost of him embedded in every piece of furniture, every creak in the floorboard making Dean's head spin wondering if it was the other man returning....it was enough to drive a man to madness. 

He remembered Castiel's hands on him and he burned. What had he done? What had he allowed to happen? This wasn't part of the plan, this wasn't supposed to develop between them. Surely it was between them? Castiel was the one who touched Dean, not the other way around...that meant something, did it not? Dean was not alone in his feelings.

But what even were his feelings? He did not know. All he understood was that he wanted to care for Castiel at all times, help him, hold him in his arms...he wanted to see Castiel's smile, hear his laugh, watch the wind whip his already messy hair around his head, see the sun light up his perfect face, watch the blue in his eyes twinkle. He wanted to be near him at all times. 

"Troubled, boy?" Bobby spoke, his voice providing a rare interruption to normally silent dinner. 

"I'm fine," Dean replied, making a show of taking a bite of the dinner he had previously just been playing with. 

"I bet your a little sore. Riding can do that at first. You'll get used to it." Bobby returned to his stew, and Dean just shrugged. The afternoon's horseback riding lesson had been thoroughly eclipsed in his mind. 

"Riding? You know Mr. Angeles doesn't approve of Mr. Novak's riding."Naomi looked up, glaring at Bobby, who merely shrugged. 

"Yeah? Report it. The man needs to have some fun on occasion, I'm not about to stand in his way."

"Mr. Angeles...."

"Mr Novak is an entirely different sort to his uncle, and you know it. You do him no favours by helping to keep him gaoled here."

Dean blanched at the word 'gaol' but no one seemed to notice. Hannah let out her disapproving sniff, as Naomi's eyes narrowed at Bobby. 

"I am not here to do favours. I am here to work for Mr. Angeles."

"So work." Bobby shrugged again. 

Dean ate another few bites in the awkward silence that followed, then stood and left the room, ignoring Naomi's calls that he had not been dismissed. He wandered through the dark halls of Briar, not paying much attention to where he was going, until he found himself standing outside the library. 

Oh to know what happened within it! He had never much cared before. Books were books, how much interest could they possibly hold? But Castiel spent so much of his time there, and Dean felt the divide rise up between them. Not because of their stations or their backgrounds, no this divide was as clear as the thick wooden doors blocking out all sound from escaping the other side. This was a world Castiel had known his whole life, and one Dean could never experience. 

The door swung open suddenly, and Dean leapt back in shock, his heart hammering in his chest. 

"Dean-o!" Gabriel's eyes widened in surprise to see him. "Come to fetch your master? I'm afraid he is not quite finished here yet."

"Dean?" Castiel came into sight, standing in the middle of the room holding a book, and looking curiously toward the door. 

"Don't stand with the door open if a servant is there! Ye gads, Mr. Rickster, I thought you had a thorough understanding of the rules of this house!"

"Uncle, it is Mr. Smith, come to collect me. May I leave?" Castiel's gaze did not move from Dean's face for a moment. 

"No. We are not finished."

"Uncle, please. I feel a headache coming on, and I will be of no use to you if I do not rest it away."

"A headache? What are you, a woman growing faint? You will be fine."

"Uncle, I was only asking in an attempt to appease you. Let me rephrase." Castiel turned away from Dean at last, facing the old man at the desk at last. "I have a headache, and I am leaving. It is almost 9pm anyway, and we have done quite enough work for tonight. I wish you good night, and will see you in the morning as usual." 

Castiel's uncle opened his mouth to reply, but Castiel was already marching away, dropping the book on his desk as he passed. He shuffled around Gabriel, still standing in the doorway, then closed the door in his face, before grabbing Dean's arm and leading him down the corridors.

They didn't speak as the climbed the steps, didn't even look at each other as Dean jumped ahead to open the door as was expected, ignored Hannah as she yelped at their intrusion into Castiel's rooms where she had popped up to get the fire going. They stood patiently through her hurried apologies, and once the fire blazed, and she had scuttled out of the room, Castiel pounced. All but running up to Dean, he backed him right up against the door, put his hands on the sides of his face, and pressed their lips together. 

Dean gasped into the kiss, grabbing at Castiel's hips, pulling his body still closer until they were pressed flush against each other. Castiel's lips moved against his, his tongue poking out to seek entrance to Dean's mouth, which he happily offered. Sparks danced behind his closed eyelids, and he was aware only of Castiel's hands on his face, all the points their bodies met, their lips and tongues wrestling together ever more passionately. Castiel's hands moved up to Dean's hair, mussing it with his fingers, pulling on it ever so slightly, causing another moan to fall from Dean's lips, which Castiel chased with his own. His hands next moved lower, sliding over Dean's chest before wrapping around his back, pulling him tight. Dean's hands continued to grip Castiel's hips, so strongly he was sure there would be marks the next day, but Castiel didn't seem to mind just now. 

Castiel's fingers ran up to Dean's hair again, and he pulled sharply, tugged Dean's head back. Dean let out a cry, as Castiel's lips moved down to his chin, his jaw, his neck, sucking and nipping their way along his skin, breath hot and heavy sending feelings shooting straight through him. He wanted more, needed more. Castiel brought his lips back up once again to Dean's, and their bodies shifted ever so slightly bringing their groins into contact. 

Both men hissed at the contact and pulled their lips apart, resting their foreheads together. Green and blue stared, though both colours were almost black with desire at this point, their physical need more evident than ever before. 

"Cas..." Dean managed in a hoarse whisper, bringing his hands up to clutch at the other man's neck.

"Bed. Please, Dean." Castiel replied, his voice sounding just as wrecked. Dean could do nothing but nod, and Castiel grabbed his hand, pulling him bodily through the second doorway, then pushing him back until he fell flat onto the large feather mattress he had spent so many nights on. 

Castiel's eyes glinted as he crawled over him, bringing their lips together again as his hands went to the hem of Dean's shirt. "Arms up, Dean." He whispered, as he had done earlier, and Dean had the same sensation of falling into heat. He wasn't trembling this time however, as his arms came up, and Castiel didn't linger. He made quick work of Dean's shirts, then his own, before kissing him again, their bare chests pressing together. 

Feeling braver, Dean allowed his hands to wander over the expanse of Castiel's skin, marvelling at the other man's reaction. He brought his hands to the front, exploring his chest, so different than any he had felt before, and yet so right, so very right. His hands dipped lower, to his stomach, then lower still, and Castiel's breath caught. He pulled away, but just long enough to reach for Dean and fumble with the ties on his trousers. Getting the message, Dean reached for Castiel's as well and moments later they brought their bodies back together without any barriers. 

"God, Dean, you are beautiful," Castiel whispered between kisses, his hands roaming everywhere and yet stubbornly avoiding the one place Dean wanted them most. 

"Fuck, Cas...." Dean hissed, moving his hips up, desperately seeking friction of any kind. He had never been so aroused, so hard, in his entire life. 

"I thought that's what we were doing," Castiel chuckled, grinding his own hips down at last, and biting back a moan of his own as their lengths slid against each other. 

"Yes, please..." Dean moaned, his hand sliding down to cup them both, moving up and down swiftly, making Castiel gasp. 

"Wait, god wait Dean!" Castiel moaned, pulling Dean's hand off. "Not like that, not yet."

He leaned down and kissed Dean's neck again, before sliding lower, his lips worshipping Dean's flesh. He kissed down his chest, Dean gasping, moaning, and shaking as Castiel found all the spots that Dean himself hadn't even known existed, all the secret parts of his body that shot straight to his leaking cock. Lower and lower Castiel licked, until finally reaching his goal. Looking up, he waited until Dean's eyes met his, before sticking out his tongue to swirl around Dean's tip. 

Dean cried out, his head falling backwards on the pillows. Castiel used his tongue like an expert, licking a stripe from base to tip, circling the head, getting Dean nice and wet, before he took the entirety of Dean's length into his mouth in one go. 

Dean yelled in shock and amazement, his hands gripping the bedding so hard he thought he might fly away if he dared let go. The sensations taking over his body right now were too much, so much, and Castiel was so perfect, so wonderful, so amazing....his head moved up and down like he had been doing this all his life, using his hand where his mouth couldn't comfortably reach each time, and Dean couldn't have been quiet if he tried. When his breath was coming out in gasps, when he felt the heat pooling telling him it was almost time, Castiel pulled away. 

Dean groaned, reaching his hand down to himself, but Castiel swatted it away. "Not yet," he whispered. Dean's eyes widened, wondering what could possibly come next, but Castiel clearly had a plan. He reached over to the table beside his bed, and pulled out a small bottle.

"Oil." he said, in answer to Dean's questioning look. "We will need it."

Dean gulped, but there was no saying no, not now. He needed Castiel with every fibre of his being, and was ready to do anything the other man wanted, anything that would make him happy. 

Castiel poured a small amount into his hands, careful to coat his fingers in it, then leaned in to kiss Dean again. "Do you trust me?" he whispered against Dean's lips. 

"Yes," Dean responded honestly. He himself wasn't trustworthy, he knew that, but he trusted Castiel with everything he had. 

Castiel reached down and began circling Dean's hole, spreading the oil there too. Dean bit his lip nervously, but Castiel smiled at him, kissing him softly. "Relax. I've got you."

Dean took a deep breath, willing himself to relax, as the finger pushed inwards. It burned a bit, and Castiel cupped Dean's face with his other hand. "Relax. Breathe. It will be fine."

The invading digit moved slowly, gently, and sure enough, Dean felt the ring of muscles start to relax. Castiel pushed it in farther, as far as it could, and Dean tightened briefly, before his body adjusted to the intrusion. It didn't necessarily feel good, he thought, but it wasn't bad either, he could do this...

A second finger pushed in, and Dean cried out. Castiel hushed him with another kiss, moving the two fingers slowly and gently. The burning sensation was all but gone now, and he was starting to notice a certain pleasure out of it. Maybe this would be enjoyable. 

Castiel crooked his fingers and Dean almost screamed; Castiel had touched something inside him, so strong, he felt he could almost come just from that single touch. 

Castiel chuckled. "Found it." 

He began moving his fingers more earnestly, brushing gently against Dean's spot inside each time, and Dean's head began to swim. He barely even noticed when Castiel inserted a third finger, he was so lost in the feeling of fullness, the heat of the moment.

Castiel withdrew his fingers suddenly, and Dean was shocked by how empty he felt. Jerking his head up to look at the other man, he saw Castiel coating his considerable hardness with the oil now. Dean gasped, his very soul filled with longing. He wanted the other man and he wanted him now!

"Turn over," Castiel whispered, and Dean fumbled in his haste to comply. On his knees now, he felt Castiel press up first behind him, and then inside him. He moved slowly, waiting, letting Dean's body adjust, but it wasn't long before he was fully sheathed inside. 

"Oh god, Dean....you feel...." Castiel couldn't seem to complete his sentence, and Dean didn't blame him. He had never felt anything so good in his life. 

"Cas....Cas....fuck Cas, you have to move or something, I'm going to die here." Dean growled, pushing his hips back, trying to get Castiel further, deeper in. Castiel groaned and pulled himself out a bit before slamming back in, hard. 

Dean cried loudly, and Castiel did it again, and again, his momentum gaining, and it was all Dean could do to enjoy the ride, his face pressed into a pillow, hands once again gripping the sheets as Castiel pumped into him again and again.

"Dean, Dean, Dean" Castiel was moaning, his name being chanted like a prayer, and Dean thrust backwards, trying to match Castiel's movements. 

"Cas, yes, fuck yes, Cas please."

"Dean, fuck! Dean!" 

It was the sound of Castiel, proper and scholarly Castiel, letting out a curse word that drove Dean over the edge. He came with a howl, his seed shooting out across the bedspread. He dropped his face down, panting with exertion, as Castiel picked up his pace, hips stuttering, and he followed shortly after, emptying himself deep inside, Dean's name on his lips. 

Castiel collapsed down onto Dean's back as the men fell to the mattress, Dean careful to avoid landing in his own spendings. Castiel slipped out of Dean, and Dean groaned at the feeling of emptiness. They lay there, half on top of each other, catching their breaths as the evening air cooled around them, finally necessitating their move under the blankets. Castiel produced a washcloth from somewhere and cleaned Dean up gently, then wiping the sheets best as he could, before they crawled in together, quickly falling into their usual sleeping positions with Castiel's head on Dean's chest. 

They were not sleeping this time however. Castiel was allowing his fingers to ever so lightly trace the freckles on Dean's chest, while Dean was pressing his face into Castiel's hair, breathing him in. Both hearts continued to pound, and Dean couldn't help but squeeze Castiel still closer to him. 

The peace and quiet stretched on until Dean was finlly starting to drift off, when Castiel finally spoke. 

"Dean?"

"Hmm?" Dean murmured into Castiel's hair, blinking himself awake. 

"Mr. Rickster has asked me to leave here with him."

Dean leaned back, trying to make out Castiel's face in the dark. They had forgotten to light the overnight candle. Dean swallowed, then answered thickly, "Leave here?"

"He has offered to smuggle me away and secure me a wife, in exchange for a cut of my money. I will be very rich once I marry, you know." Castiel hadn't moved from his spot on Dean's chest, and despite his efforts, Dean could still only make out the top of his head. 

"That..." Dean swallowed again. "That is a very generous offer." 

"Do you think I should do it?" Castiel moved at last, resting his chin on Dean now so they could look at each other in the dark. Dean could just make out the reflection of Castiel's eyes as they searched Dean's face. "Tell me....tell me what you think I should do."

This was the moment. Dean knew that if he told Castiel that he loved him, Castiel would say it back. If he cupped Castiel's cheek in his palm and kissed him, Castiel would return the affection. He could tell him the truth, what Gabriel wanted to do, and they could run away together, without him. Dean could find some Lant street woman to marry Castiel, there were many who would be eager for such a payday. They could take his fortune together, get Sam, Mary, and John out of their den of thieves, and start a new life, all together. He could save his family, and he could have Castiel by his side, really have him...and Castiel would meet his family....

His family of criminals. Dean's stomach turned sour as the fantasy burst around him. He couldn't bring Castiel to Lant street. What would he say when he saw where Dean grew up? When he smelled the piss in the alleyways, when he stepped over the drunks in the street; when he learned what the Winchester's did for a living. When he learned what Dean did...what Dean had done here, why he had come. Dean had betrayed him. He had lied to him. He had the blood of a murderess in his veins.  
Castiel could never stay with a man like that. 

And what would his family say if they found him to be a poof? He thought back to Sam's jokes about "nancies" and cringed. John would say he had always known Dean to be too soft, Mary had spoiled him. Mary would weep that Dean could never bring their fortunes now. They might even banish him, kick him to the streets. And then what would happen to Sam, Sam would never stay with him, he would never let someone like Dean take care of him if he knew the truth about Dean's heart, if he knew what Dean had done here in this bed. 

Dean closed his eyes, to hide from Castiel's gaze. He couldn't keep this man if he wanted his family. He couldn't keep his family if he wanted this man. 

"Dean. Tell me what you think I should do." Castiel whispered again, reaching up to touch Dean's face. Dean took a deep breath, his stomach curdling. 

"You should go with him, sir."

Castiel's hand froze at the formal sound of Dean's voice, and he slowly withdrew it. Dean felt tears prickling behind his own eyes, and tried blinking them away, hoping Castiel wouldn't ask anything else, hoping he was done talking. 

He was. 

It was debatable if either man slept that night, both lost in his own thoughts, but still they lay together all night, Castiel's face pressed into Dean's chest, Dean's arm holding Castiel as close as possible, as if he let go for even a second, the other man would disappear. 

Maybe he would. 

The night passed, the sun rose, and Dean hated himself.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean and Castiel were awkward with each other all through the next day. Dean, helping Castiel dress the next morning, noticed faint bruises on the other man's hips, where Dean had grasped too firmly, and his face burned. Mere fingers had done that, had left those marks on Castiel's perfect flesh. What would the outside world do to him? What would prison do?

The tension rose during breakfast, as each time their fingers brushed or eyes met, Dean would pull away, ducking his face to the side. He couldn't look the other in the eyes, couldn't face him with the knowledge of what he was doing. For the first time since arriving, Dean was relieved to drop Castiel at the library and settle into the empty sitting room alone. 

When Benny stopped by for tea, he made no mention of the untidy state of the room, Dean having been too distracted to tidy it up today, and instead forced small talk about the weather, about the other servants, about the library project.

"I expect many of the others will be sad to see Mr. Rickster go on Saturday," he mentioned calmly, unaware of the effect this statement had on Dean. Saturday; that was only two days away. 

"Is..." his voice cracked and Dean cleared his throat, trying again. "Is the work almost finished, then?"

Benny laughed. "Oh the work will never be finished! I am certain at this point that Master Angeles intends to keep working until his death! But Mr. Rickster's contributions are indeed nearing completion. I was informed this morning to begin preparations for his departure."

Castiel would be leaving with him, though no one knew that yet. In just two more days, it would all be finished. 

Dean was called to fetch Castiel at 1, as he had done in the past. Apparently for the second day in a row, he was unneeded to entertain in the afternoon. They walked the grounds together, the same awkwardness in the air as had been present at dinner. When Castiel reached for Dean's arm, as he had done so many times before, Dean pulled away. He couldn't bear the guilt. As they sat down to play cards inside, Dean was subdued and distant, focusing only on the deck before him. Castiel seeming to sense the other man's discomfort, said nothing as well. The hours crawled by. 

Dinner came and went, and Castiel stayed late with his Uncle and Gabriel. Dean alternated between pacing the room and staring out the window, the very window Castiel had spent so much time gazing out of. Dean wondered in which direction the city lay, if he would be home in it soon. He wondered if he could face his family.....face himself....once Castiel was gone. 

The clock had struck 11 before Castiel appeared in the doorway, eyes cast downward as they so often were after his long nights. He gestured to Dean without a word, to come help him ready for bed. Once in his nightshirt, he reached for Dean to join him, as usual, but Dean hesitated, pulling back.

"It is a warm night, Sir. Surely you would sleep better alone?"

It was impossible to miss the hurt that flared in Castiel's eyes, and Dean looked away swiftly, hoping Castiel hadn't seen the tears threatening behind his own. Castiel let his hand drop, and rolled over without another word. 

Dean retreated to his own room, one he had barely stepped foot in for more than a month, and lay down on sheets that felt cold and unwelcoming as plastic. He could hear Castiel tossing about in the next room, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to forget the feeling of holding Castiel's body against his, the crush of his lips, the slickness of his hand...the softness of his caresses, the whisper of his breath. Dean wanted to forget all of it, but it was imprinted on his memory as real as nothing else could be. 

He fell into an uneasy sleep, tossing and turning himself, painfully aware of the missing body beside him...until it was no longer missing. 

Dean sat up with a gasp. It was pitch black in his room, but he felt it anyway. Someone else was there. A hand reached out and covered his mouth.

"Dean...it's me, it's just me, don't scream." 

"Cas??" Dean pulled his face away, blinking around in the darkness. He could sense Castiel so close, hear him, but his eyes might as well have been closed for all he could see. 

"Dean...." warm hands cupped his face, feeling ever so briefly, as if orientating themselves, then a pair of warm lips lowered themselves to Deans. 

Like a dam bursting, Dean couldn't have stopped himself if he'd tried. The awkwardness of the daytime forgotten, Dean grabbed at Castiel and pulled him down onto the bed, pulled him on top of him, savouring the heavy weight pressing him into the mattress. Wasting no time, he fumbled for the bottom of Castiel's night shirt, and pulled it up, pulling his night shorts down, and taking him in hand, Castiel's erection already growing. Castiel growled, then deepened the kiss, entwining their tongues before bringing his hands down to grasp at Dean as well. 

They jerked each other in tandem, panting, hips thrusting into the other's hand, lips never parting more than a few millimetres. 

"God I need you, I needed you all day..." Castiel moaned into Dean's mouth, making his hair stand on end as he chased the words with his lips. 

"You too...need you always," Dean managed to reply seconds later, using his free hand to grab at Castiel's neck, holding him closer. "Fuck Cas, you feel so good..."

"So good," Castiel echoed, his hand picking up speed on Dean's throbbing cock. "Don't stop, Dean"

"Never" Dean hissed, increasing his speed to match Castiel's. "Fuck, fuck, yes..."

"Yes, Dean, Dean!" Castiel cried out, hips shaking as his body was wracked with orgasm, his spendings shooting across Dean's stomach. His hand stuttered on Dean, but Dean covered it with his own, continuing the pace until he could no longer contain himself either. With Castiel's name on his lips, he followed moments later, body shaking as the sensation exploded within him. 

Castiel collapsed onto Dean, paying no attention to the stickiness now trapped between their bodies. Dean wrapped his arms around him, desperately clutching Castiel close, horribly aware of how the other man was still shaking. 

A moment passed, and Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Castiel's head. "Hey Cas, are you ok?"

"Come back to my bed, Dean. Please. Don't make me sleep alone."

Dean breathed deeply and nodded, before remembering that Castiel couldn't see him. "Yes," he whispered. The two men stood, removing their soiled night shirts and tossing them in the direction of the laundry before Castiel took Dean's hand and led him back to the bed they had previously shared. 

The night candle was flickering in here, allowing for a hint of light as the two men climbed into bed wearing only their shorts. They settled into their customary positions and Dean tried to enjoy the afterglow instead of thinking about what was to come. 

Castiel couldn't let that happen however. 

"Dean...you will come with me, won't you?"

"What do you mean?" Dean whispered into Castiel's hair. 

"When I go with Mr. Rickster. When I am married. You will stay with me, right? Be my manservant, no matter where I go?"

Dean swore he could physically feel his heart breaking, shattering into a million pieces inside his chest. 

"When you are married, you must share a bed with your wife," he said softly, instead of answering. 

"It will be a marriage of convenience, she will know that. I only wish to share my bed with you." Castiel pressed a kiss to Dean's chest. "Tell me you will stay with me."

Dean pulled Castiel closer. "As long as I am able." 

Was it possible to die from such a broken heart?

 

The next day passed so swiftly, Dean could have sworn it had been enchanted. News of Gabriel's departure spread quickly, and the servants were rushing to clean and pack for him. Dean was expected to help while Castiel was in the library, which he resented fiercely. Aside from the extra chore, he was also attempting to pack secretly for Castiel. Space was limited, as Castiel owned only a few small bags he used about the grounds, and so Dean was also emptying his own satchel for Castiel's use. He cared not for the servant clothes he had worn here, and wouldn't need them when he was back at Lant street anyway. He did keep the riding shirt he had worn though, tucked in carefully in the corner of his bag. He could get away with wearing that in the city, and knowing that Castiel had dressed him in it once....yes, he had to keep it. 

Castiel was gone all afternoon and evening, not seeing Dean again until after 11pm. He allowed Dean to ready him for bed, though they both kept their night shirts off, preferring to feel the other's skin against his own. Castiel kissed him softly good night, but neither attempted anything more. The nerves for tomorrow were too much for them both. 

Saturday dawned, and Castiel whispered the plan to Dean as they dressed. Gabriel would appear to leave on his own mid afternoon, but Dean as one of the servants would make sure that he had a couple extra bags with him, Castiel's luggage. Bobby would leave him at the train station, but instead of boarding, Gabriel would circle back toward the town where he could rent some horses. Castiel and Dean meanwhile would wait until nightfall, when they could be sure the house was asleep, and they would sneak out to the road. Gabriel would meet them there, and together they would ride back to the town, board the first train to the city, and meet Gabriel's cousin there. Gabriel swore he knew a church where the minister would marry them, no questions asked.

After that, they would be untouchable. Castiel merely had to go to the bank with his marriage certificate, and they would release his money to him. He would pay Gabriel his promised fee for helping, then they would be free to go anywhere, and there was nothing his Uncle could do to stop them. Castiel's eyes seemed to shine too bright as he mentioned this to Dean, and it was easy to imagine it was from tears. Did Castiel suspect that there was no real future between them once they reached the city? 

The entire household went down to bid farewell to Gabriel, including Mr. Angeles whom Dean had never seen outside of the library, and a clever looking blonde man who smirked when Dean caught his eye; this must be the mysterious Luc. 

Gabriel swept his hat off with a flourish, and bowed deeply to the residents of Briar, thanking them all profusely for their hospitality during his stay. He wished them all the best of health and happiness. Dean could've sworn he heard Hannah let out a sniffled quite unlike her usual disapproving sound, and Benny definitely looked like he was trying hard to remain composed. Castiel however remained stoic, moving only to shake Gabriel's hand and wish him well. 

Then Gabriel was climbing into the cart, Bobby was shaking the reins, and within moments he had disappeared down the drive. Mr. Angeles was turning back into the house with Luc, Castiel followed with Dean, and the rest of the servants trailed behind, quickly disappearing through doors and corridors, off to whatever chore they had to complete next. Castiel murmured that he had to join his Uncle in the library, and Dean headed to the sitting room alone. 

Castiel returned after dinner, and stood beside Dean, looking out the window. 

"Only a few hours now." He said softly. Dean took his hand, entwining their fingers. 

"Only a few more hours." He agreed. 

"You took care of everything," Castiel said next, looking at Dean out of the corner of his eye. "I dare say, I would not be doing this tonight if it weren't for you."

Dean's face turned red, and he couldn't look Castiel in the eye. Not now. "It was my job, sir."

"Dean?"

"Yes?"

"Please call me Cas. Just this one evening, forget what you are meant to do. Please. I want to be 'Cas' to you."

Dean closed his eye briefly, then got the nerve to turn to the other man. His arms wrapped around Castiel's waist, and he pulled him close, resting their foreheads together. "You always will be 'Cas' to me." he said, his words barely louder than a breath. 

Castiel closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Dean's neck. The two men stood that way at the window, as the sun set filling the air around them with fiery light, stood together as the stars twinkled into sight, as the sounds of the manor settling for the night filled their ears. Dean's neck was stiff and his arms and legs growing weary from lack of motion, but he didn't dare move an inch. If this was to be their last moments alone together, he would not be the one to interrupt.

Nor would Castiel, apparently, as their embrace only came to an end when a knock on the door caused them to step back from each other at last. It was only Hannah, looking to light the evening fire, and Castiel excused himself to go to the privy so Hannah could feel free to work without risking being found in a room with him. Hannah made quick work of it, and Dean settled in to a chair to wait for Cas to return. 

Time seemed to stretch on however, and Cas did not reappear. Dean assumed an upset stomach, or nerves, and tried to be patient, but as the clock ticked ever louder, bringing them ever closer to their departure time, Dean grew ever more worried. Once or twice, he even ventured into the hallway, calling for Castiel. 

But even a whisper sounded loudly in the echoey halls of Briar, and Dean retreated quickly back into the rooms each time his call went unanswered. He started pacing, trying to calm himself. Where could Cas be? Surely he would not have left without him? Could he have been found out? Perhaps lost, or cornered by his angry uncle?

The clock tolled 11, and Castiel still had not returned. Dean was starting to get frantic. They were due to meet Gabriel at 12, and needed time to sneak through the house still. He paced back and forth, his head shooting up every time he heard the slightest creaking sound from the house. At half past, he stepped into the corridor again, looking down both directions, resisting the urge to call out lest it wake anyone. What could be going on?

He headed back inside, pulling the door closed behind him, but it was suddenly stopped and pulled out of his grasp. Dean swung around to see Castiel hurrying into the room, closing the door behind them both. His hair looked even more untamed than usual, his eyes wild, his breath heavy as if he'd been running. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Castiel cut him off. 

"I've just been to my Uncle's library....had to see it one last time, but couldn't risk being caught. Took me awhile." He wrapped his arms around Dean, who returned the hug nervously, aware of how hard Castiel was shaking. 

"It's time to go," Dean whispered, his chest tight. 

"I know." Castiel replied. He leaned back and pressed his lips softly, chastely, against Dean's, their sweetness filling Dean's very soul. He returned the kiss, cupping Castiel's face, but all to soon the other man pulled away. 

"Lead the way." 

Dean did, holding tight to Castiel's hand the whole time. They snaked through the black corridors, quiet as a pair of mice, stopping only long enough for Dean to pick the lock to the back door exiting the kitchen. Castiel didn't ask about Dean's knowledge in this area, and Dean didn't volunteer the details. They simply did what was needed and headed out. 

Gabriel was waiting as promised at the end of the drive, astride a chestnut horse and holding the reins to a spotted grey. Castiel helped Dean clamber up before climbing on in front of him, letting Dean wrap his arms around his waist before clicking his tongue and heading off into the night. 

No words were exchanged as they arrived at the inn in town. Dean expected something, any sort of reaction from Castiel who surely was feeling shock at this first venture outside the Briar grounds, but Castiel was steady as anything, helping Dean down, bedding the horse in the stable, walking alongside Gabriel as they entered the inn. The three men shared a hotel room, Gabriel and Castiel in the bed, Dean on the couch as he was still in the role of servant. They slept only a few hours before Gabriel made them rise to catch the train. 

Castiel sat beside the window, watching the scenery fly by, while Dean sat across from him watching Castiel. Gabriel seeming utterly unconcerned by both, sat with his ankles crossed, humming a vague tune to himself. Dean pretended he wasn't there; it was easier than fighting with the urge to fling him from the train, perhaps into the nearest river when they crossed over a bridge. 

The ride seemed to take no time compared to the ride that took Dean to Briar to begin with. As the train pulled into the station, Castiel startled; the first sign he was reacting to his sudden change in circumstances. He looked at Dean, his eyes blown wide, and Dean resisted the temptation to cup his cheek. Later, he promised himself, later he would find a way to see Cas alone, if only for a few seconds, to hold him one last time. 

The other passengers began to disembark, but didn't move to let them off. Dean looked around curiously. "Mr. Rickster, sir? Are we not going here?"  
Gabriel didn't answer, but looked out down the aisle, as if searching for something. Castiel reached out and squeezed Dean's hand quickly, then pulled away, biting his lip. 

Dean looked at him, then at Gabriel again. "Mr. Rickster? What...."

The sound of stomping boots filled his ears, and the next thing he knew, two large policemen were standing over them. 

"Mr. Novak?" One with a thick set of sideburns and a heavy accent began. "Thank you for contacting us. Is this the criminal?"

"It is." Gabriel answered. Dean's head jerked in surprise, his mouth falling open. What the...

"He came to my master in disguise as a manservant, claiming my identity. Of course, when the real me showed up, the plot unravelled and we discovered his true intention: hiding in my master's manor! Hiding from the police! Can you believe such a thing?"

Castiel still said nothing, but Dean found his voice. "Gabriel, what are you..."

"Gabriel Rickster? Yes, you are under arrest. Please come with us, and kindly do not make a scene, there are women and children outside."

"What?? No, I'm not....What? Gabriel! Gabriel, what are you..." The other officer grabbed Dean's arm, pulling him upwards. "No! No, I'm not Gabriel! He is! Cas, Cas tell them, you know I'm not..."

But Castiel turned at last, and Dean fell silent, his mouth falling open aghast. The look on Castiel's face was one he had never seen before, hard and sharp, his eyes narrowed. He looked a statue, a solid stone thing, distant and removed from the living. 

"Take him away, he is embarrassing us." A voice such as Dean could never in his wildest dreams have imagined coming from Castiel's mouth. Dean's other arm was grabbed, and Dean was dragged bodily away, still staring in shock at the man on the train, eyes only trained to Castiel's cold, harsh face. 

Dean had thought Castiel pure and good. He had thought him sheltered and innocent. 

Innocent as a demon. Castiel had been in on it from the start.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the beginning part 2 of the story! I updated the tags to show the change, I didn't want to include them before because of spoilers. 
> 
> If you're still reading, I hope you've been enjoying the journey so far! I'm having a blast writing it for you!

Logically, Castiel knew his first memory wasn't a true memory. There was physically no way he could remember it. He saw it so often however, in his dreams, at night before bed, when walking the grounds at Briar, even when his mind wandered in the library. He saw the blood mostly, dripping steadily, stretching out everywhere. In his mind, it spread like a spilled bottle of ink, slowly but steadily, staining everything it touched. 

He heard the drips, constant and uninterrupted. He never saw their source, but he knew it all the same. He knew the straps were there, holding her tight to the bed, straps on her arms, across her middle, her forehead, a strap holding her mouth open to avoid a tongue biting incident, straps holding her legs open so that he, Castiel, might emerge from between them. The doctor was standing by to help, but no one bothered to stop the dripping. And when Castiel finally came free, he wasn't so much as laid on his mother's bosom. The first moments of his life were the last of hers, but no one wept the loss. He imagined her body stayed strapped to the bed until the mortician came to fetch it. 

For this was the madhouse, and no one mourned the end of yet another mad woman. 

As Castiel grew larger, he learned that this memory of his was of course impossible. No one remembered their own birth, and the madhouse nurses would gently explain it to him. He learned to nod along, to agree with them, even logically knew they had to be right. It didn't matter. He never knew a time when he could not remember the dripping blood. 

His first ten years were spent in that madhouse, but knowing nothing else, Castiel did not mind. He knew his mother was dead, but it was of no bother to him: he had twelve nurses who loved him as a mother would. He would sleep in each of their beds in turn, never wanting for affection or care. The madhouse was separated into men on one side and women on the other, but Castiel never saw the men. For years, Castiel didn't even understand what a man was, or how he was different than the people surrounding him. 

The nurses dressed him in a tiny boy version of their uniform, and made him a small wooden spoon perfectly fitted to his hand. He learned discipline this way, standing in front of the mad women and threatening to punish them while the nurses crowed and cawed and claimed to never have seen anything so droll. Many mad women had the same reaction, petting his hair and kissing his cheeks. Perhaps he reminded them of their own sons on the outside. Castiel paid them no mind. He expected adoration. 

Though strange indeed, Castiel's childhood was not a poor one. He was well fed by the staff, better than the patients were. The nurses took turns with his schooling, and he found he had an eye for letters and a mind for learning. He absorbed knowledge quickly, and he steadily worked his way through all the books the madhouse had to offer, and then went through them a second time. He was given notebooks, and he took great pride in writing in them, describing all he had learned. 

For his tenth birthday, he was given a different set of gifts than the usual books and writing papers. The head matron presented him with a gold ring that she said had been his father's, and a locket with a picture of his mother. It was a heavy gold thing, tied with a ribbon, and Castiel disliked it immediately. Nonetheless, the matron tied it to his neck and told him he must wear it. This should have been the first warning of things changing. 

It was a few weeks later when Castiel was summoned into the matron's office. She didn't look him in the eye as she put her hand on his shoulder and pointed him toward a man sitting at her desk. 

He had hair that was more grey than dark, and was climbing steadily back from his forehead, as if trying to escape his face. A pointed nose and shrewd eyes lay below the receding hairline, and it was those eyes that studied him now. 

"Why is he dressed like that?" Were the first words Castiel ever heard in a man's voice. 

The matron blushed. "It has been a harmless sport of the nurses to dress him as one of them."

"Have I been paying you to make sport of him?" the man stood and approached Castiel, leaning heavily on a cane so as to study him better. "Boy. Do you speak?"

"Yes." Castiel said, somewhat rudely. Who was this person to talk down to him like that? 

The man winced. "Loudly. That will not be acceptable. In my house, we are loud only in knowledge, our voices soft." He looked at the matron. "I see he wears his mother's likeness. Good. Hopefully that will remind him of her fate, and help him to avoid it."

"We have made sure he keeps in on his neck, sir."

The man nodded, eyes going back to Castiel. "Can you read?"

Castiel just stared at him. Who was this man? How dare he question Castiel, the beloved child? The matron reached out and hit him on the head. 

Castiel gasped, throwing his hands over himself, and gaping up at her in fear. No one, ever, not even a patient, had been permitted to lay a hand on him. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. What was happening??

The matron didn't say a word, but handed Castiel a book, on catechism. He had read it before of course, as he had read everything, though he had never been particularly interested in this subject matter. Nevertheless, fearing more retribution, he took the book and opened to a random page, reading in a clear voice that only trembled a bit. 

The man nodded. "And his writing?"

The matron handed Castiel a pen and some paper, and fearing another strike, Castiel started writing at once, copying what he had just read. 

After a few lines, the man whisked the paper away, studying it closely. "Hmm, a child's writing to be sure, and plagued by serifs. But it is neat enough, and with practice we can rid him of his immature habits."

He looked at Castiel again. "Boy, would you like to come live with me in my manor?"

Castiel's eyes bugged open in shock, and he stamped his foot down loudly. "I would not like that at all!" Leave the madhouse?? Of all the ideas!

The man chuckled. "My house is very large. If you wish to stamp your foot and yell like a child, we can find you a room far from my sensitive ears, and you can stomp and yell all you want there. Stomp and yell until we forget you are even there, until you wither and die from being forgotten. How would you like that?"

Castiel's jaw dropped again, and he turned to the matron, reaching for an embrace as he had done so many times before. "You don't really mean for me to go with him??"

But the matron pushed his arms away. "This is Zachariah Angeles, Castiel. He is the brother of your mother, your uncle. He paid for us to keep you here, but now it is time for you to go home with him." 

There was nothing more to it. The nurses wept as they hugged him goodbye, tried to give him parting gifts, but the man....Zachariah....would have none of it. He did not permit so much as a change of clothes or a piece of paper to come from "that filthy place" into his home. Castiel was escorted into a carriage with only the clothes on his back, his mother's portrait, and his father's ring. 

He sat in a rage, unable to comprehend this shocking turn of events in his life. Zachariah didn't speak to him at all as the carriage trotted away from the only home Castiel had ever known. The ride lasted most of the day, but Castiel's anger never left him. When Zachariah passed him bread and a hard boiled egg from a basket for his lunch, Castiel threw them to the ground. Zachariah merely chortled at that. The carriage was stifling and Castiel wanted to scream, but he did not. He could hear the dripping of blood, as usual, and wondered vaguely if Zachariah is dying, he himself is dying, or if his mother's ghost is angry that he was being taken away. 

They arrived at the house as the sun was setting, and Castiel immediately felt terrified, his anger vanishing. He grew up in a world of sound and movement, high walls and strict behaviour. The stillness of the house scared him and he started shaking. The sun made it light up like the portal to hell itself. This place was wrong, so very wrong, and Castiel could feel it. 

Zachariah climbed out and walked away without so much as a gesture to Castiel who continued sitting in the carriage, sure that if he got out he would be trapped here forever, sucked into the portal and never allowed to escape. The carriage jostled as the horses stamped their feet, the groom waiting for Castiel's exit. He clung to the seat edge, swearing that they would have to pry him out, swearing he would stay there until they took him home. 

Finally after what seemed an eternity, a woman came from the house. Later, Castiel would know her as Naomi the housekeeper, but at the time he only saw her apron and assumed her to be a nurse. Somewhat comforted by that, he allowed her to grab his arm and lead him into the house. 

She pulled him through dark corridors with high ceilings, past walls covered in portraits and under chandeliers creaking in the draught. Castiel's fear only grew. Where were the lunatics? Where were the screams and cries?

They finally reached a set of doors, and the woman pulled them open. "These were your mother's rooms and now they shall be yours. Your uncle wishes to make a gentleman out of you, but I suspect he has his work cut out for him."

"I don't want to be a gentleman!" Castiel said stubbornly, his first words since leaving the madhouse. Naomi simply reached out and cuffed him upside the head. 

"We do not yell in this house." She said calmly, as Castiel threw his arms over himself again. "Try speaking again like a boy, not a savage."

Castiel glared up at her, longing for his wooden spoon. If only he had it, he would show her savage, show her what he learned taking care of the mad women!

The woman tutted, and turned away. "There is a chamber pot under your bed, and we have filled the wardrobe with clothes more suiting your station that the filth rags you have on now."

Castiel grit his teeth. How dare she call his precious nursemaid uniform rags?

The woman turned and marched out of the room without another word, leaving Castiel to cry and yell and stomp around as much as he wanted, and so he did from the moment the door was locked behind her. He screamed and threw things, kicked cushions into the fire, ripped the curtains down, demanded to the empty air that someone fix this, someone take him home.

The universe answered with silence, and eventually Castiel's temper wore itself down. He collapsed in exhaustion on the bed.

The next morning, he was awoken to find that his nurse uniform has been taken away in his sleep, and he was forced to put on the black trousers and stiff, starched white collared shirt he finds in his wardrobe. His rage starts to grow again, and he refuses to eat the breakfast a large bearded man brings him. As it became more clear that Castiel had no intention of obeying commands, the man sighed and went to fetch Naomi again. 

Holding tightly to his arm, she led him to a set of some of the thickest doors Castiel had ever seen. She rapped smartly, then pulled him inside, keeping him close to the entrance way. 

Zachariah looked up with interest. "Naomi. How is the boy's temper?"

"Quite ill, sir." She answered. 

"Hmm, yes I can see it in his eyes. Has he eaten yet?"

"Not a bite."

"Hmm..." Zachariah moved closed, peering at Castiel. "You know, child, I care not if you starve yourself. I care not if you are unhappy here. I care only that you are made soft." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of metal beads, the kind wrapped with silk that scholars used to hold books open. Naomi held Castiel's hand up at the wrist and before Castiel could even begin to understand what was about to happen, Zachariah brought the beads down smartly across Castiel's knuckles.

Castiel wailed, his eyes filling with tears, but Zachariah did not stop until both hands had been rapped three times. Dark bruises started to blossom already, but the silk wrappings around the beads kept his skin from breaking. 

Shaking his head, Zachariah put the beads back in his pocket and turned back to the desk. Naomi reached out and pinched Castiel, hissing "Stop that crying!"

Castiel gulped, trying to get himself under control, and Zachariah smiled. "There, you are already learning discipline. Now, let me explain to you why I brought you here." He gestured at the books surrounding them. "Do you know what these are?"

"Books." Castiel muttered sullenly. 

"Books! Yes. Look closely, can you read the titles?"

Castiel moved to step forward, but Naomi grabbed him, holding him back. "From behind the line!" She hissed, and Zachariah nodded approvingly. 

"Yes, from behind the line. I asked you to read, not to run. Can you tell me the title of any?"

Castiel squinted, but couldn't make any out. He shook his head. 

"Ha! Yes, that line you see on the floor, that is the line of innocence in this house. Confirmed by oculists, as long as one stays behind that line, one might not see what these books contain. Now, you will cross that line soon enough, but for now I want you to tell me. Why do you think I have brought you here?"

Castiel wanted to yell at him, but his knuckles still throbbed and he was learning already to watch himself. "To make a gentleman out of me." He said with as much disdain as he could manage. Naomi subtly reached behind him and pinched him again. 

Zachariah snorted. "To make a secretary out of you. This is my life's work, and it shall be yours. Once I am convinced you can control yourself. You will do well to learn to behave quickly; we do not accept layabouts in this house. Work hard and you will be fed, clothed, given everything you need. Fail me..." he pulled the beads out again, turning them over gently in his hands, the threat left unsaid. 

Castiel stared at his uncle's hands, saying nothing, hearing only his young heart pounding in his chest. A moment of silence passed, then Zachariah nodded at Naomi. 

"You have a month to make him soft. Do not disappoint me."


	13. Chapter 13

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Castiel heard it as Naomi beat him soft. He heard it as he finally gave in and started eating again. He heard it when she marched him out to small graveyard located behind the house and demanded he start tending to his mother's grave. The grasses grew tall here, the weeds creeping up the stones, and Castiel cut them back steadily, while hating his mother for doing this to him. How dare she die and make him go through this?

He was given books every day to read, and he lost himself in each one, desperate for any kind of escape from this house. "Briar," Naomi would correct him, "Call things by their proper name." Castiel refused to say the name out loud after that. He wrote reports on what he had read, showing them to his uncle, and Zachariah would send them back with notes on how best to correct his penmanship. He wrote it again, imagining each letter with a dot was Zachariah, or Naomi, and stabbing them fiercely as he made each point. 

But he did learn about many things, from science to philosophy, from letters to numbers. He learned that fighting and screaming was not the best way to gain freedom, but knowledge....now that was a powerful weapon. He learned to listen. He learned each of the servants names and histories, dull though most of them were. He learned what lies he could say to make Naomi leave him be. He learned and he waited, as the days turned to months, the months to years. Naomi resumed her housekeeper duties, and care of Castiel fell to Mr. Lee, an older gentleman who helped wash Castiel's face, and held him like a father at night, when the sounds of dripping blood became more than Castiel could bear, though he also learned not to mention the cause of his nightly distress.

He was 14 when his uncle finally let him step past the brass line into the library, and he learned the biggest secret of all. 

He was put upon a desk close to the brass line, where Zachariah began teaching Castiel lessons, but it was in no subject that other boys his age were taught. He learned to recite, slowly and clearly, his uncle clearly pleased with the deepening of Castiel's voice as he aged. He learned the different kinds of bindings that held books, leather vs Moroccan, and their papers, silk vs vellum. He learned the names of the fonts, and how to replicate them by hand. He learned of his uncle's society, the Men of Letters, and began to meet them when they came for readings. Eventually, Castiel began to be given large texts to read, foreign texts that he did not understand but recited perfectly anyway. The men watched him curiously, strange expressions on their faces. He grew used to that. Afterwards, they would come to pet his hair, cup his face, and tell him how incredible he was, how rare. Castiel thought himself something of a prodigy. 

Until he was given a book in English to read. Zachariah stood over Castiel's little desk, a large volume in his hands turned so Castiel couldn't see the title. 

"Today you will learn the truth of what we do in here, you will cross the brass line. Are you afraid?"

"No," Castiel said honestly. Books were either windows of escape, or dull dusty collections. Nothing to fear. 

"You should be." Zachariah countered. "For you think me a scholar, and I am! But a scholar of sin, and this is my collection of poisons. I have been compiling my index on the subject for decades now, and there is none other like it in all the world! It will guide all men to their particular taste in poison, it is comprehensive and judgement free. It is a labour of devotion, and it is to this labour that I have moulded you. You are here to aid me."

Castiel could never forget that moment, as Zachariah handed him his first book of poison. The book was called "The Curtain Drawn Up", which meant nothing to Castiel. But the image beneath it....a woman lying naked, prone in a bed, her hand disappearing between her legs, her face awash with pleasure. Castiel gasped.

"Now now, none of that, no foolish modesty here! You will soon forget the subject matter in favour of the forms. Look here, look at the marbling edges to the paper, so well done! And this serifs font, quite unusual. The picture here, reminiscent of Barone's work, fascinating..." he continued on this vein, and Castiel began to tune him out. A collection of poisons indeed.

For that was his uncle's area of study. Every single book, every print, every paper in the vast library was a detailed and graphic example of the best pornography the Victorian age had to offer. 

Despite Castiel's age however, teenage hormones flowing freely through his body, he never experienced a reaction to the subject matter after that first day. His uncle had been right in that area, as any titillation that could be found was immediately stamped out by talks of font and bindings. He learned the various mechanics of all different matters of sex, between any number and gender of partners, but the information was no more captivating to him than when he learned of the types of flowers that bloomed by rivers vs the kind that preferred fields. 

His voice grew still more deep, and his uncle delighted in the sound, having him read more frequently to the visiting Men of Letters guests. Castiel paid no attention to the subject matter in the slightest, spending his reading hours reciting blankly while thinking of any other number of things. He didn't even acknowledge the men in the room until he was forced to, one night years later. 

Castiel had just passed his eighteenth birthday the first time he realised that the men in the crowd were having a stronger reaction than usual to his recitations. He was pulled out of his daydream by the sounds of heavy breathing, the soft murmurs of voices. Finishing a section, he dared look up while turning a page, only to notice that several of the men in the crowd had pulled their cocks from their trousers, and were stroking them intently while watching him.

Castiel was flustered for the first time, and fumbled in his read. His uncle's eyes shot daggers at him, and he knew he would pay dearly for his error later; determined to tune them out, he focused once more on the reading and realised suddenly that it was detailing the erotic adventures of two men. The men in the crowd were clearly responding to the subject material, but it wasn't until he finished that he realised the reaction was just as strong as a result of him. 

The men who's hands weren't otherwise occupied applauded him, and he bowed gracefully as usual. About to take his leave, he heard one of the men groan. 

"Zachariah, please, 5 coins to let me stick it in the lad's mouth, just for a second."

"Ten if you let me finish there!" Another moaned, his hand still moving quickly. 

Castiel gasped, looking at his uncle, afraid for the first time since he had first arrived at the house. Zachariah, luckily, looked more enraged than anything.

"My nephew is not a whore, nor a sailor boy for you to have your fun with! He is as much a scholar as you or I, and he is not to be touched."

"15 coins," the first man moaned, "if he just stands before me and reads again until I am finished."

Castiel shook his head, his eyes pleading with his uncle, but Zachariah merely threw his hands in the air. "Fine! But do not release on him, my man servant will not be happy if he has to start doing Castiel's laundry in order to keep this secret. And not on the book, either!"

He gestured at Castiel, who considered refusing, resisting for the first time in years, but one look at Zachariah's face told him he had no choice. He would surely be beaten again, or denied food, or left in the ice house at he had been once when he'd accidentally spilled a bottle of ink onto his white shirt. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

He picked up the book and stood before the man, opening it to a random page and reading, his voice loud and clear as always. The man moaned again, the sounds of his palm working against his skin filling the air, drowning out all but Castiel's deep, gravelly voice. It took only two pages of reading before the man let out a shout, and released his seed onto the carpet. 

Castiel turned and all but fled the room, leaving the book on it's pedestal at the front. He ran through the corridors, stopping only when he was in his own rooms, the door firmly shut, Mr. Lee looking up in shock from his spot on the sofa. 

"Dear me, whatever is wrong?"

But Castiel was forbidden from telling the secrets of his uncle's library. He merely shook his head, and stumbled into the bedroom, curling up in bed in his clothes, and trying to forget what had happened. He didn't let Mr. Lee undress him, and he didn't call for him to sleep on the floor beside his bed that night. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

From that day on, such events became the norm. Zachariah never let anyone touch Castiel, but he began to allow them more freedom to look. Occasionally he would have Castiel remove his shirt while reading, or encourage him to make his voice lower. Zachariah began encouraging Castiel to exercise more in his free afternoons, build up his body muscle. Castiel had grown into a handsome man, he knew that, and his body tended naturally toward musculature. He used the excuse though to get out of the house as often as he could, running around the grounds, riding horseback, even spending time lifting and throwing heavy rocks. He hated that it improved his appearance, but enjoyed the feeling of strength. Someday, he told himself, he would be strong enough to do what needed to be done, to secure his freedom. 

Years continued to pass however, and still Castiel stayed in the house. His face grew more chiselled, his muscles more defined, his eyes more blue. His uncle gave him a small allowance, and he was able to purchase his own books, on subjects he chose himself. He read fiction for the first time, and enjoyed it thoroughly. He struck up a friendly exchange with Bobby the groom, and through him continued to absorb the gossip of the house. Knowledge continued to be his power, though he had not yet determined how to best use it to his advantage. He knew that the servants thought him younger than he was, as no one was quite sure of his age when he had arrived. He learned that nobody liked Luc, the blonde smirking manservant of his uncle's who was mainly responsible for cleaning up the mess at the end of Men of Letter's nights. Castiel delighted in this, as Luc had never been anything but obnoxious to him, a few times going so far as to say the Men of Letter's masturbatory interest in him were his own fault, for being so pretty. Castiel dreamed of killing Luc slowly with a book knife. He learned that Zachariah preferred male staff because he believed it would prove less tempting for Castiel: even Hannah the maid was hired only because she was assumed to be a sapphist. 

Castiel filed every single bit of information he learned away, swearing to himself that someday, somehow, he would find a way to use it. He just needed the final piece, the spark that could ignite this powder keg he sat on. 

The spark came in the form of one Gabriel Rickster.

It was early winter when Gabriel entered the manor for the first time, responding to a job ad placed in the local paper. He met with Zachariah, and Castiel paid him absolutely no mind. Another man, another pervert most likely, and what was that to him?

When Gabriel sat in on Castiel's reading that night, he was just another face in the group. The crowds always seemed large to Castiel, but in actuality never contained more than 3 or 4 men. Only 2 were present with Gabriel that night, neither one the type to call Castiel filthy names while stroking themselves, so Castiel was even more tuned out than usual. He finished his reading and left, wandering aimlessly back to his own rooms, unaware of how Gabriel's eyes had followed him. 

The next day, Castiel was shocked upon entering the library, to find the man there with his uncle. They both looked up upon his entrance. 

"Ah, Castiel. This is Mr. Rickster, he has come to help us mount our pictures."

"I see." Castiel responded, feeling vaguely wrong footed. He was unaccustomed to seeing anyone in this room besides himself, his uncle, and occasionally Luc. 

"Today is to be spent simply showing him what needs to be done, so you are excused for now. Run along and play, but quietly!"

Castiel bowed and exited, heading back to his rooms and Mr. Lee, but he didn't miss the raised eyebrows on the new man's face when he heard Zachariah's command. Castiel had passed his 21st birthday in the fall, but his uncle would forever see him as a sort of ageless child. Castiel supposed it not surprising. Despite his uncle's hair turning white and completely disappearing from the top of his head, Castiel imagined him as dry and ageless as the books he surrounded himself in. 

Mr. Lee had returned to bed when Castiel arrived at his rooms. He had been doing that a lot lately. Unlike Zachariah, Mr. Lee did seem to be ageing before Castiel's eyes, and had been quite sickly of late. Castiel sighed and dropped onto the sofa, picking up the nearest book he could find, and read. 

The same thing happened the next day, and the day after that, until finally Zachariah requested Castiel's return. He had contracted a cold it seemed, and wished to rest in his bed, but the library could not go unmanned for even a day. Castiel took up his role dutifully, cataloguing and copying as usual, ignoring Mr. Rickster for most of the morning. 

It was only after Luc had delivered their mid-morning tea and departed again, that the silence was broken. 

"You surprise me, Castiel."

"Mr. Novak, if you don't mind." Castiel didn't really care about formalities, but knew if any servants overheard them being casual together, gossip would spread like wildfire. His penchant for knowledge made him all to aware of how much the slightest bit of information could be worth to the right listener.

Mr. Rickster merely chuckled. "Is it not too dark in this room for a man like you? Surely you would prefer some warmth."

"I like the shadows." Castiel replied, taking a bite of his porridge. Mr. Rickster nodded, his eyes roaming over Castiel with impunity before looking away as if interested in the books.

"I like the shadows too."

Castiel rolled his eyes and took another bite. Mr. Rickster took his silence as an invitation to continue. 

"Perhaps you don't care about your uncle's subject?"

"I am essentially a secretary, for all that my uncle labels me a scholar. The appeal, or lack there of, in the subject is irrelevant."

"Perhaps. Though it is unusual to see a young, virile man such as yourself so unmoved by the very topics created to provoke movement and arousal."

"I am an unusual sort," Castiel responded, robotic. Gabriel nodded.

"Indeed you are." Gabriel leaned closer. "Do you regret your education?"

"How can one regret being wise?" Castiel put his fork down and met Mr. Rickster's gaze head on. "I have been well versed in the sins of man, and can therefore not be tricked or deceived as to a man's purpose. For example, I know exactly the ways a man might speak to a woman...or another man....to incite a reaction, and have no illusions as to why he would do such a thing."

Gabriel threw his head back in a hearty laugh at that. "Oh my dear lad, you are quick, I'll give you that! Though may I be as bold as to say, you are wise only in the areas of your uncle's books. In the real world, there are many other desires beyond those of the flesh."

"I am aware, though it is my belief that men forget them quickly when desires of the flesh are around."

Gabriel grinned, leaning forward again. "I for one, have no such desires of the flesh. Such things hold no mystery or interest to me. I have but one desire: wealth. Surely you can relate to that one."

"I have no wealth, and what need would I have for it anyway? I am owned by my Uncle. Any wealth of mine would simply rot away in a bank."

"And if you were to leave? To claim it for yourself?"

Castiel chuckled, fighting down the hope that flared in him at the idea. This man knew nothing of his life here. "How do you think I should do that, sir?"

"I know about your situation." Mr. Rickster's eyes flashed. "I know your uncle all but bought your from the madhouse, and keeps you at Briar as little more than a slave. I know you have vast amounts of wealth available to you, if only you were to marry, but your uncle keeps all manner of females far from your presence. I know that you remember the madhouse, and your mother's fate therein....can you feel her madness in your veins? Do you except this house to make you succumb to it, as it made her? My apologies for speaking so plain, Castiel sir, but I fear we may not have another moment. I will have to leave on Sunday, and it will be weeks, perhaps months before I can return."

Castiel gaped at him. He knew of his inheritance of course, thanks to gossipy servants, and assumed the case in his Uncle's insistence on a male staff....though it was likely equally designed so as to avoid temptation on the subjects in his books. Castiel didn't know it was common knowledge however. He shut his mouth quickly and cleared his throat. 

"I don't know where you heard all this, but I assure you that while it is not widely known, it is hardly a secret. The madhouse has records of my mother's passing, the banks have records of my inheritance. If you are looking to bribe or blackmail me..."

"No, nothing of the sort! I am looking to free you." 

That was enough for Castiel, his resistance crumbling. He leaned in, staring Gabriel in the eyes. "Tell me."

And so the plan was outlined. Gabriel revealed his troubles with the law, and how he knew a young man, simple and dull, who could easily be switched out to take the fall for Gabriel's misdeeds. The rouse wouldn't last forever though; eventually someone would realise that the arrested boy from the mean streets of the inner city couldn't possibly be Gabriel, the well born gentleman. What Gabriel needed then, was the time and the means to disappear from the country before his con is discovered. Once turning the boy in, time would not be the issue, he could be ready to leave within a day. But he was short on funds...which was where Castiel came in. 

"I have a cousin, slow of thought, quite dumb you see. She knows nothing of the world, and has been told she can expect no husband. She will be grateful enough just to get a small fee and a place to live, that she will go through with any arrangement. This is what I propose: I help you escape Briar, and make all the necessary plans for your wedding to this cousin. Once married, you have access to your funds, you will give me a financial gift of gratitude, and I shall have the freedom to leave."

"Where does the young man come into all this?" Castiel was intrigued. 

"I have heard that your manservant has been quite ill of late? You propose to send him away to rest, and inform your uncle that you need to replace him. I will suggest this man, passing him off as a manservant. The man is a thief you know, a swindler. I will feed him some story about how I mean to rob you blind and need his help to get close to you. He will do it, trust me. We will place him here under your watch while I secure our situations on the outside. When the time is right, we three will flee together and I will report him to the police. We can claim he has been hiding in your house, posing as a manservant....the truth of course....and that is how he, whom the police will think is I....have remained undiscovered by them for so long. He is taken to jail, you are taken to the wedding hall, within 24 hours we will have our money."

Castiel looked around him. The books seemed to stretch far the eye could see, the windows covered in yellow paint to keep the faint sun out. He could smell dust and ink and leather, the same smells he had endured every day for 11 years. He thought of the city, which he had never even seen yet felt he knew from books. He could live there. If he had his own money, his uncle would be unable to touch him. He had enough money that he wouldn't need to work again, never need to write a note or read a text for anything other than enjoyment. The only price it seemed was a small fraction to Mr. Rickster, and some unknown thief having to spend a couple weeks in a city prison. By the sounds of it, the man should expect such treatment from his lifestyle anyway. 

Castiel looked back at Gabriel. "Let's do it."


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel tooks steps to put the plan in motion the very next day. He dismissed Mr. Lee, assuring him that he was welcome to return when his health improved (though knowing he would be long gone by then). He complained to Zachariah of his need for a replacement, and was given permission to hire someone on his own (vouched for of course by Mr. Rickster). Gabriel left a couple of days later without another one on one conversation, but with a wink accompanying his goodbye handshake, that filled Castiel with promise. Maybe this could actually work. Maybe it was worth starting to hope. 

Mere days after that, he received the news in a 2 sentence letter scrawled in hasty handwriting: "He's ours. Sending him along in two days time."

Castiel fell back onto his pillow, clutching his letter to his face as if it came from a lover, thrilled that Mr. Lee was not here to witness his strange behaviour. Luc or Benny had been taking turns helping Castiel with his basic needs since the space had become vacant, but as they had other duties to attend to, he was blissfully alone nowadays, for the first time in his life. He intended to savour the freedom before this criminal boy arrived and Castiel would have to put on an act.

He debated long into the evening, long after he had escaped from dinner (there was to be no reading tonight), how exactly he should be with this new man. The theif would be convinced that he was trying to win Castiel over, so Castiel of course should act aloof, perhaps even fond of his life here....but not so fond as to raise suspicion when he was "persuaded" to leave. He should be friendly enough to feign trust, but not so friendly as to reveal any truths about his uncle's household. 

Gabriel hadn't mentioned keeping it a secret, but in Castiel's mind, it was simply a fact. No one knew what really went on here, outside of the Men of Letters themselves, and the rare outsider like Gabriel who was brought in to do a job. The other servants were forbidden to know the truth, so surely the thief would be held to the same regard. Quite outside of these facts however, Castiel found he simply did not want to tell. This man would believe Castiel innocent in a way no one ever had: though it was never mentioned, Castiel was sure everyone knew of his origins in the madhouse, everyone knew he could at any moment slip into the same fate as his mother. The thief would have no idea. Castiel yearned to be near someone who had no idea, even if it was only temporary. 

He sent a response that stated he would be happy to meet any man Gabriel recommended, then settled in to wait. He swore time never passed as slowly as it did in those next two days. He worked in the library, where the walls were thick enough to obscure sound, and the windows painted yellow to keep the harmful sun out, and nearly drove himself to the dreaded madness trying to determine if he could make out the sounds of a cart arriving. He was distracted enough during dinner that Zachariah took his plate away, something he had not done since Castiel was a young teenager, telling him that if he could not sit still for a meal, he would not eat. Castiel was forced instead to watch his uncle enjoy his potatoes and meat, and imagine him choking on it. 

He walked the grounds even more than usual, took his favourite horse, Charlie, out for a ride, checked in on his mother's grave (whispering "I hate you" as usual, pretending he didn't hear dripping as he approached). Every sound in the distance was the cart bringing the key to his freedom ever closer, he was sure of it. 

At last, as Luc readied Castiel for bed, he broke the news. "Mr. Singer has gone to the train station to fetch your new man." 

Castiel's breath caught in his throat as he spun to look eagerly at the face he hated. "Are you certain?"

"I am. I believe the room by yours has been readied for his arrival, he should be here at some point in the night." Luc smirked as he took Castiel's soiled shirt from the day, delaying for just a second in handing him his nightshirt. "You know, in case you have missed a man's cock in your face, I'm sure you can call him in overnight. I know it's been over a week since Master Angeles's last reading wank session."

Castiel burned with indignation, but refused to let Luc see how much his words could get to him. Forcing himself to remain calm, despite his unclothed state, he simply held out his hand and waited to be given his sleepwear. Luc smirked again, then pushed his cheek out with his tongue repeatedly, clearly hoping his lewdness would get the angry reaction the whole staff knew Castiel was capable of, but Castiel remained stoic. If he was going to start playing the role of innocence, he might as well start now. 

Luc finally handed Castiel his nightshirt, and Castiel dismissed him, crawling into bed in the dark with only his sleeping candle burning by his bed. He imagined he could hear the new man arriving, settling into the room just through the doorway from his own, imagined he could hear him chuckling at the dimwitted gentleman he would soon be robbing. If only he knew the truth, Castiel chuckled himself. He wasn't sure when his thoughts slipped into dreaming, though they clearly did; his bedroom rarely dripped with blood in reality the same way it did in his dreams. 

 

"Have you seen him?" Castiel asked Benny the next morning as he was getting shaved. 

"Not yet, sir. Naomi told me that he arrived quite late."

"So Naomi saw him then. What did she say?"

Benny cleared a strip from Castiel's cheek before answering. "She expressed concerns about his tardiness, though in my opinion he can hardly be blamed for the train schedule."

"Indeed. Anything else?" Castiel suddenly realised something. "Do you know his name?" In all his plotting and planning, in his discussions with Gabriel, he had never gotten a name!

Benny looked surprised, but continued his task anyway. "I believe it is Dean Smith, sir, formerly of the Rickster city house."

Castiel nodded. "Yes, Mr. Rickster recommended him to be, but I forgot the name. Thank you Benny. Please see to it that he is sent in to see me once he has taken his breakfast."

"I believe he was due to eat with the servants about thirty minutes ago, sir." Benny replied, taking up a warm towel to wipe the remaining shaving cream off Castiel's face. 

Castiel let him, as the surprise sank in. The thief, this Dean fellow, was already here and eating...waiting for him! Castiel felt suddenly nervous. What if he could not keep up his role? What if Dean realised the truth, that he, Castiel, was little more than a whore himself? He couldn't do it! But he had to...

"Fine. Once I am dressed and ready, you will fetch him."

"Very good, sir." Benny replied, opening the closet to allow Castiel to select his clothing for the day. 

This task took an exceptionally long time, considering Castiel's wardrobe consisted entirely of clothing his uncle had chosen, leaving with with exactly four styles repeated several time: day wear, dinner wear, riding wear, and nightshirts. Not even the colours varied by more than a few shades; his trousers were always black, his shirts white. Still, Castiel laboured over the choice of what to wear the first time, effectively delaying coming face to face with Dean. 

When he could postpone it no longer, he sent Benny off, and looked nervously around his sitting room. Where should he wait? On the sofa, or would that look too relaxed? At the desk? Maybe he could seem more scholarly there. By the fire, looking mysterious or hard thinking? No, the desk was best, Dean expected him to be a scholar. 

Minutes, or perhaps hours later, a knock finally sounded on the door, and Benny announced Dean Smith. Castiel took a deep breath, clenched and unclenched his hands to stop them from shaking, then turned around....and found himself staring into the brightest set of green eyes he had ever seen. 

He inhaled sharply as he felt a swooping sensation in his stomach at the sight of the thief. He was....there was no other word for it.....breathtaking. Taller than Castiel, a bit leaner but strong looking, his legs slightly bowed. His short hair was light brown and a smattering of freckles seemed to all but dance across his nose and cheeks in a boyish, yet extremely handsome way. The green eyes were the focus of his face, and they were a shade so stunning that Castiel felt he could stare into them forever and never grow tired of their colour. 

Forever was interrupted however as Dean gave a slightly uncomfortable looking bow, snapping Castiel back to focus. This man, incredibly beautiful though he may be, was a thief in disguise, here to entrap Castiel. The awkwardness of his bow alone showed that he was unaccustomed to being a member of a household. Castiel mentally shook himself. 

"Mr. Smith. Hello."

"Mr. Novak. It is my pleasure to meet you."

Alright, that was just unfair! Castiel all but groaned at the sound of the deep, erotic voice that fell from Dean's lips. Maybe he could just refuse to let him speak. This was going to be much harder than he had anticipated, how could Gabriel have failed to mention that his criminal looked and sounded like the perfect male fantasy??

"Please, call me Castiel. And I shall call you Dean. After all, you have come here to be my manservant, have you not? Best that we feel comfortable with each other." I will never be comfortable with how perfect looking you are, he added silently in his head.

"Thank you, Sir. Castiel. I am certain I will like it here."

The worst dialogues from all his uncle's books came rushing through his mind at once in response to that sentence, and he swore he could see Dean blush as if thinking it too. Surely that was a trick of the light though; Dean was a criminal, not a pornographer, he was not having these same ideas.

They sat then, Castiel shifting onto the sofa while Dean sat on the chair opposite after handing Castiel the letter from Gabriel. Castiel opened it, working hard to keep his face neutral. In the same messy writing from the previous letter, he read swiftly. 

"Here is the filthy fingersmith who will make us rich! Dean Smith, an alias of course, though he is watching me write this at this very moment. Oh his ignorance is a joy to behold! I imagine him watching you read this now, and can hardly stop shaking from laughter. I have employed him in the past for base jobs, and can recommend him perfectly for this role. He'll be good for you as long as we need, but remember he IS untrained in household chores, so pretend not to notice when he fumbles. I'll return in one month, maybe a bit more, and we shall put the plot in motion. Burn this letter, will you? Gabriel Rickster."

Castiel had imagined himself cool as Gabriel, able to separate the plot from the person, and he startled to find that he was not. He could feel Dean watching him read, feel his presence in the room as he never felt Mr. Lee's. He folded the paper and set it beside him. 

"Is this true?" Castiel asked, hoping to catch Dean out, hoping to find some trace of the criminal behind the green eyes. There was no way he had really been watching when Gabriel wrote. 

"Er...the letter?"

"Obviously." Castiel chuckled, trying again. "Mr. Rickster says such things about you! You must have been very interested to read them yourself. Not every day a man gets such a compliment." 

Dean didn't answer right away, and Castiel tilted his head to study him. Was he struggling to come up with a lie?

"You did read it, right? I know it's not quite proper, but surely you couldn't resist taking a peek. I know I couldn't, in your shoes!" he chuckled again, hating the sound of his own forced laugh. He knew he was being strange now, but he wanted some proof, some hint that Dean knew something, anything. He needed a reminder of the thief, a sign that he deserved what was coming.

"Actually...sir...I never...that is to say....I can't...." Dean's face was definitely red now, there was no blaming the light. He was embarrassed, but why? Castiel tilted his head again, confused, until the realisation hit him like a bolt of lightening, chasing all other thoughts from his head.

"Dean...are you telling me that you can not read?"

Dean met Castiel's eyes then, pleadingly. "I could be taught, Castiel sir, I'm sure of it, if you wish. I do know my letters a bit..."

"Taught to read?! I wouldn't hear of it!" Castiel fell backwards, raising his hand to his forehead. He wasn't sure he had ever been so shocked, if he had ever met someone who didn't know what worlds lay inside books, what information, what ugliness. If he, Castiel, had been unable to read, if only he had refused to learn from his nurses at the madhouse, refused to pratice his letters....how different would his life be! How innocent! 

"To not be able to read...oh I can't imagine what a blessing. Dean, you fortunate creature."

"Sir?"

Castiel sat up and grabbed the letter, thrusting it at Dean. He needed to see it with his own eyes. "Show me. Please. Read a word, any of it."

Dean took the letter, and Castiel watched fascinated as he squinted at it. "I believe this is my name," he said softly, pointing at what Castiel could clearly see indeed said Dean. "And this here....Mr Rickster's?" He pointed at the word "fingersmith". Castiel fell backwards, his hand cupping his cheek as he studied the other man. 

"You are remarkable, Dean. I believe this arrangement will work very well." Better than Castiel could have hoped.

"Um...thank you, sir."

"Castiel."

"Castiel. Sir."

Castiel smirked, then leaned forward, remembering the role he was meant to be playing. "You know that my uncle is a scholar, right?"

"I have heard, yes."

He launched into the speech he had practised earlier in his head. "This house is essentially a tomb, that passes off as a library. The largest library of it's kind in the country, but the vast majority of the literature remains locked away for my uncle's eyes only. He lives and breathes those books, and as a result has let the rest of this household die. I can only imagine what you see when you look here: the darkness, the gloom. The sun won't shine here, you see, my uncle forbids it. Sunshine fades print." Castiel forced a laugh, and Dean followed a beat later, clear that he did not understand. "But for you, one who can not appreciate the library...you who has to see the world through your own eyes, not those of writers and scholars...I believe you will interest me." Possibly the biggest understatement in history. Dean had been here 10 minutes and was already the more fascinating thing Castiel had ever seen.

"I hope so, sir. Castiel."

The two men gazed at each other for a moment longer, before being interupted by the tolling of the bell from the hallway. Castiel sighed, feeling Zachariah's shadow falling over the room. 

"I must go to my uncle now, but I will be free again at 1pm. Come and collect me from the library...Benny will show you where it is...and we will get to know each other better. You will lunch with me, of course." Castiel wanted to spend every possible moment with this magical creature who could not read.

"With you?" Dean sounded surprised, and Castiel made up an explanation on the spot.

"Of course. I am required to have dinner with my uncle, but I prefer my breakfast and lunch to be more stimulating than discussing books with that old man. I really must go now though, my uncle will have my hide if I'm late." he smiled and rose from his sofa. "I will see you again at 1pm."

Castiel left the room, his heart pounding in his ears, his breath coming out on great gasps as if he had been running swiftly. Gabriel had not sent him a petty crook: he had sent him an Adonis. 

He glanced at the clock that hung on the wall close to his door, the one that controlled his time more surely than the bells at the madhouse had controlled the patients's. If he was not in the library soon, Zachariah would surely find some new twisted way to punish him for his tardiness. Forcing thoughts of Dean from his mind, Castiel hurried to work.


	15. Chapter 15

The morning passed agonisingly slow for Castiel, who was fortunate that Zachariah was caught up in a new, rare edition of a book that had just arrived, and therefore was more inclined to disregard Castiel's presence than usual. Castiel's distraction could not go unnoticed forever, though and eventually, in the afternoon, his Uncle noticed.

Castiel wrote in the ledgers that filled his desk, cataloguing and labelling different works...in theory, anyway. In reality, he was figetting with his pen, eyes looking at but not seeing "A Maiden's Secret", when Zachariah spoke.

"Is there something else you'd rather have occupying your thoughts, Castiel?"

Castiel had been imagining Dean in his rooms, wondering what he was doing there. Poking through Castiel's belongings perhaps, wondering what he could sell, what he should keep, what he might pass on to a lover.

"No, Uncle."

"Are you certain? You seem quite distracted. Perhaps you begrudge me this small labour I ask you to do. Perhaps you wish I had left you in the madhouse all those years ago?"

No, Uncle." Castiel grit his teeth. He knew any argument would result in a lack of dinner at best, or a long night of entertaining Zachariah's worst sort of friends. 

"I wonder what they would do with you there now. I could just as easily have Mr. Singer prepare the cart and take you away if you'd prefer that life to this one. What would they make of you however, with all you know now..." Zachariah smiled sinisterly, peering at Castiel over the top of his desk. 

Castiel refused to respond, but calmly looked back at his paper and continued writing where he left off. Zachariah murmured the question a few more times under his breath, as if seriously pondering the implications of sending Castiel back, and Castiel shivered slightly, careful not to give his uncle any more reason to question him. 

He was working hard when the door sounded and opened, Dean stepping nervously through it. Castiel couldn't help but grin at the sight of him, coming to liberate him from the day's work....and in the long run, from the life itself. 

Dean smiled back shyly, and Castiel completely forgot to warn him not to come closer until Zachariah looked up and howled. 

Castiel winced, then turned to Zachariah. "Uncle, this is Dean Smith, my new manservant. He has come to fetch me."

Zachariah blustered some more about the rules of the library, and Castiel hardly listened before bowing and taking his leave. He hurriedly explained the brass line on the floor to Dean, thinking of his own youth, how he too once had stood on the other side of the line, completely innocent to the filth that lay within....then as Dean agreed and promised to look out for it, Castiel remembered the reality of the situation. 

Dean could walk into that library at any time, pick up any volume he wanted, and it would be nothing to him. His innocence was assured, his safety from their poisons guaranteed. Each book was nothing more than scribbles on paper. Castiel wanted to hate him for it, but found it impossible. The man was a marvel. He would never know Castiel's world, and Castiel wanted to keep it that way. 

They ate lunch together, Castiel casting his mind around to topics that someone like whom Dean thought he, Castiel, was might talk about. It was exhausting. He tried to react as innocently as he could, pretending he knew nothing of the city. It got easier as the conversation went on, for the truth was that he did know nothing; nothing outside of books anyway. He could see Dean casting around for answers, and Castiel narrowed his eyes once of twice. Dean clearly had no idea about the lives of the upper class. Castiel took small comfort in that. It helped him maintain his aura of innocence. 

They spent their afternoon together as Castiel usually did alone. They walked about the grounds, Castiel still fumbling for topics of conversation. He was supposed to be pretending to warm up to the man, but he was warming up to him for real after only one day! He made sure to cut back the weeds at his mother's grave, cursing her as usual for succumbing to her madness and abandoning him here. He sent Dean away for that part, not trusting himself to be able to keep it inside. 

They walked together around the grounds, Castiel constantly sneaking glances at Dean beside him. The late afternoon sun was doing wonders for the other man's skin, making him all but shine. Castiel forced himself to look away, only to find his eyes returning of their own accord, and chastised himself internally. It was likely that he had simply spent too much time with his Uncle's books, they were effecting his thinking. It was bound to happen eventually, and told himself that he was fortunate it had waited until now. The object of his newfound thoughts surely could have been more appropriate though.

He had dinner with Zachariah as usual, though there was no guests to read for tonight, so he was free to leave early. He invited Dean to play cards in his sitting room, and they had a comfortable game with little talk required, before Dean insisted on getting Castiel ready for bed. 

Castiel noticed Dean's face set in a determined line as he remembered his training and carefully helped Castiel undress and dress in his night clothes. Castiel marvelled internally at how much the man could have learned in such a short time, with no books to help him, and was careful not to point out any errors; the exact opposite of what he would have done with Mr. Lee, whom had many times been subject to Castiel yelling and anger. He had no one else on which to vent his frustrations. But Dean was different, he was trying so hard, and Castiel let him at it. 

As he lay in bed, listening faintly to the sounds of Dean in the next room, Castiel reminded himself over and over: he means to destroy you, he has come here to destroy you, you have to destroy him first. 

Dean was only a thief after all, and a petty one at that if Gabriel was to be believed. An orphan and a thief, who cared for nothing but money. Yet he had clearly thrived in the city, he was healthy and happy looking. Surely Castiel, with all his gifts and cleverness, could do even better? 

The price for that satisfactory ending however, was Dean Smith. And Castiel went to bed reminding himself that he must pay it. This man must be forgettable. 

 

Of course, the next few weeks past, proving Castiel wrong in so many ways. Dean was not a mere thief, and he was not merely handsome: he was clever and kind, sometimes even showing sparks of wit. Castiel became adept at translating Dean's stories of gentlemen's houses, to the true locations that were hidden behind them. He was starting to form a picture of a small house of comrades, sharing in the day's work. There were children around, he could tell from some stories, and maybe even a mother and father figure. Dean's life in the city was far from empty, far from the dirty gutters Castiel had expected. It was clear that Dean cared deeply for his city people, and to Castiel's shock, he began to envy them. Oh to have Dean care about him that much! 

He so loved listening to Dean speak, the tiny gleanings into his real life, his true self behind the mask of servant that he wore, that Castiel would spend hours asking him questions, trying to draw him out. Dean seemed eager to respond, and so Castiel could lie to himself that they were truly bonding after all. He even let his guard down once or twice, revealing stories from his own life. He was careful to keep them innocent, though it was hard when so much of his existence was surrounded by filth. He cast around for things he did outside of the library, for topics that might interest Dean. Unfortunately, everything was tainted by his Uncle's shadow.

"I almost convinced him once, in my youth, to let me hunt. He agreed to let me learn to ride first, but unfortunately I fell off the horse and hurt my ankle. That seemed to prove to him that scholars had no need for such excessively physical pursuits, and started stressing that exercise should be only for the sake of health, and never more strenuous than a brisk walk." Castiel looked at Dean and grinned conspiratorially, secretly enraptured by the sparkle in Dean's eyes. "I secretly had Bobby teach me to ride anyway. I can't go often, but every now and then it's a brilliant escape."

Dean grinned at that, a real honest grin, that sent Castiel's stomach into somersaults and made his heart beat faster. Dean looked like an entirely different creature when he smiled, like instead of a crook or even a servant, he might be a righteous man, come to save Castiel.

"Maybe you could teach me to ride someday, sir." Dean said casually. 

Castiel had let his guard down, and responded without thinking, with a joke about riding. His eyes widened in alarm and he barely caught himself from gasping out loud. Why had his brain gone there, of all places?? But the double entendre seemed to go right past Dean, and Castiel relaxed again. It was going to be fine. Dean was innocent. 

Castiel however, seemed to grow less innocent with each passing day in Dean's presence. Dean was different than a man servant, in ways that Gabriel probably had not thought to consider training him out of. He was too calm, too open. He yawned when he was tired, and stretched when he was stiff. He scratched his arm when there was an itch, and occasionally even bit his nails. He leaned against the wall instead of standing at attention by it. He would make eye contact with Castiel and smile as he handed him his clothing or shaved his face, and Castiel would feel the same flutter in his chest every time. 

His uncles books started taking on a whole new meaning for him, coming alive in a way they never had before. Castiel thought he was completely desensitised to their contents, that nothing so base as arousal could ever happen to him as a result of a fiction, but now he was reading the words instead of merely seeing them. He didn't understand why they felt so much more real suddenly, or what Dean had to do with it, but he knew the two were connected somehow, and it enthralled him. 

But just as Zachariah's shadow hung over every millimetre of the manor house, so to did Castiel sense Gabriel's shadow over Dean. He repeated his mantra each night before bed, reminding himself that Dean meant to destroy him and put him in jail, but the words sounded less real to him with each passing night. His Dean was good, was innocent. He did not posses Castiel's poisoned blood, tainted by his mother's madness, nor Castiel's poisoned mind, tainted by Zachariah's obsession. Dean meant to destroy him, but maybe he had no choice. Maybe he knew no other way. 

One afternoon, Castiel found he couldn't take it anymore. He needed some sign from Dean, some clue that he knew what was going on. Dean had kept his deception up for so long....while he was clearly no manservant, he had not once slipped and seemed like a criminal instead. So Castiel summoned his courage and asked. 

"Did you speak with Mr. Rickster much before coming to me, Dean?"

"A bit, yes." Dean spoke casually, as he usually did, and Castiel sighed, looking out the window. He regretted bringing this up already.

"When he was here, we spoke at great length one evening, at one of my uncle's functions." Castiel still couldn't believe Gabriel's boldness in approaching him in his uncle's own library no less, though he supposed it was the only chance to ever have Castiel alone. He pretended now that it had been at a reading; it sounded less suspicious to imagine that they had spoken over books and drinks. What Dean must assume such evenings were like, not knowing the truth! 

"I hope he was able to hold your interest, sir."

"Castiel."

"Castiel, sir." 

Castiel couldn't help but grin. He loved Dean's one tiny insistence on calling Castiel 'sir', like that one word would prove he was really a servant. 

"He was not so interesting as you, I confess. But he did give me some ideas to ponder." Was that flirtatious? Castiel checked himself, just in case, but if Dean noticed then he didn't say anything.

"I am hardly as interesting as Mr. Rickster. He is a gentleman of some scholarly renown, much as yourself. Surely you two had much to discuss." Dean was looking at Castiel with such earnestness, such faith. He truly believed Castiel good.

Castiel turned to face him, falling into his eyes, thoughts of Gabriel being pushed aside. How long had it been since anyone thought him good? "Dean, I hope you don't truly believe yourself uninteresting. I enjoy our talks very much. You put ideas in my head that I dare say would not be in there otherwise."

Ideas that probably shouldn't be there, ideas that would only hurt everything in the end.

"Ideas, sir?" Dean didn't know, he didn't understand. What could he know of such things? He might be sexually experienced....Castiel had no way of knowing....but he was certain that it was minor at most, perhaps some kissing or touching with some thief girl. What could Dean know of the areas Castiel had started dreaming of, of the things two men could do for each other?

"I long to hear you talk of the world outside of Briar." Castiel said, forcing his thoughts back on track, the name of the house tasting like ash on his tongue. "You have seen much more of the world than I."

They were still staring at each other, Castiel feeling the heat forming between them, begging Dean to understand, to respond in some way....but then Dean stepped back and looked away. 

"I've seen only the city as a servant. I imagine Mr. Rickster has seen much more than I, and knows much more. Did he talk with you about such things?"

Like a bucket of cold water being poured on his head; that was how Dean's voice suddenly felt to Castiel. He did not know. He never would. The plot was still on, and Dean was still the price. "We discussed ways for me to leave here."

Dean cocked his head, looking curious. "Is that something you would be interested in?"

Castiel had no response. Dean knew that Castiel would have to leave, he was plotting himself to make it happen. Nothing had changed here, Castiel had only forgotten momentarily. He sighed, staring back out the window. He thought of Dean stealing his clothes, pawning his expensive items, but the thoughts did not help him remain stoic. Dean had to go to jail, maybe even deserved it. He was innocent compared to Castiel, but he still broke the law by his own choice. Jail was coming for him eventually anyway, Castiel was just helping to speed up the process, for his own benefit. He had to leave this place, he had to be free of his uncle. He had to be free from the threat of madness. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut against the sound. Surely it was just the rain, striking the window ledge; but why was it so much louder now than before? 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

"Dean." Castiel was weak. He hated himself for this. 

"Yes?"

"If I call for you in the night...would you come to me?"

Castiel imagined he heard Dean gasp at the request. It had to be his imagination. 

"It is my duty to serve you at any time, Castiel sir."

Why must he be so good, so kind? Why could he not say no, not ask any questions? Surely this was a strange request of a gentleman to make! Everything Dean did just made Castiel's head grow more clouded. 

"You have noticed, surely, that I sleep poorly?"

"I have."

"I find I sleep better if there is a warm body nearby. I did not wish to burden you so until we knew each other better, but....I ask you now. Nothing untoward, I assure you. I simply....would request your presence." Nothing untoward. Except that I crave your presence at all hours, day or night, and I feel I shall explode soon with the want of you near me. Castiel continued talking in his mind, almost missing Dean's response. 

"Helping you is not a burden to me."

"Thank you." Castiel reached out and put a hand on Dean's shoulder, savouring the flare of heat that licked through him as he felt Dean's muscles beneath his shirt. "I will remember this the next time I have a bad night." Or a good night. Or any night. 

Dean looked up at Castiel, and Castiel's heart threatened to jump right out of his chest. His hand was still there, and it was easy to imagine he saw Dean swallow nervously, that he saw his pulse racing in his throat. Their eyes met and the dripping sound seemed to stop altogether, for the first time in Castiel's memory. Dean had silenced Castiel's mother's ghost. 

Castiel couldn't have looked away if he tried. He wanted to memorise every millimetre of Dean's face, every speck of colour in Dean's eyes. The room was silent, and Castiel had never heard such peace. Dean was peace, Dean had brought him peace. Maybe his intention had been to destroy Castiel, but he was giving him strength instead. He was amazing, he was wonderful, he was....Castiel stopped his train of thought right there, his only focus on Dean's perfect green eyes. 

The clock, the infernal device that controlled Castiel's every moment, chimed through the evening and Castiel blinked in surprise. He took his hand off Dean, and looked around, trying to catch his bearings. It was dinner time. The dripping was back. 

He said as much to Dean, about dinner anyway, uncomfortably aware of how husky his voice sounded. The evening had taken it's toll on him. He didn't look at Dean again as Dean helped him dress for dinner, then escorted him to the dining room. Zachariah had five guests, who looked up at Castiel as he entered like he was a pig being presented to the slaughter. Castiel shivered. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.


	16. Chapter 16

Castiel was too embarrassed to call Dean into his room at first. The night after he had originally brought it up, one of his Uncle's guests had gotten too close to Castiel while reading. Zachariah continued to stress that Castiel was not a pleasure boy, and no one was allowed to physically touch him during these evenings, but Castiel was still the main draw and sometimes guests tried to push the boundaries. An elderly gentleman who was a regular at these events had stood and approached Castiel, hand on his cock, begging Castiel to keep reading. Zachariah, perhaps annoyed by Castiel's distractions of late, merely shook his head indulgently as the man had released his seed in Castiel's direction. 

While Castiel had managed to duck away from most of it, some spots landed on his bare arms and undershirt; Zachariah had insisted that Castiel remove his outer layers for the reading tonight, likely in an attempt to humiliate him further. Castiel had been forced to ignore it as he continued reading a particularly graphic chapter that included the lust of man for beasts. He was thankful that this particular subject did not come alive for him these days as others did, but it meant he had no distraction for the rapidly cooling and drying spendings from the man on his skin. 

When he had finally been permitted to leave, he found he could hardly look at Dean, let alone ask him to share in a bed. He had the release of another man's orgasm still clinging to his shirt! He took the washcloth and wiped himself down more thoroughly than usual, then sent Dean to his own bed. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

You mean to destroy me, Castiel whispered in Dean's direction, but the words had lost all meaning. He longed for the other man to come in and hold Castiel in his arms, kiss his forehead, and tell him that this was not his fault, that he was good. He longed for Dean's belief in Castiel's goodness. He longed for Dean in general. 

Finally, after two nights of lying awake in longing, Castiel broke. The drips were coming louder than ever, he could hear the men laughing as more cum flew at him, Zachariah's mocking, half serious warning that Castiel must not be touched, but if he wanted it...that was a different matter. The dripping got louder and the seed turned from white to red, to blood dripping everywhere, falling off a table in a madhouse. The laughter continued, then Dean was there, with light and wings; an angel, come to save Castiel, but the men grabbed Dean too, they wanted to destroy him, take away all that was good and pure, take him to hell as they had taken Castiel all those years ago. 

"Dean? DEAN!"

His cries left his dreams and entered the real world, which Castiel only became aware of when he was shaken awake by the man himself. 

"Dean...you are here." Castiel sat up, rubbing his eyes. "I thought....for a moment, I suspected...." he stopped himself, his mind waking up more thoroughly. 

"I am here, of course I am sir. You called for me." Dean reached out to comfort him and Castiel grabbed his hand, holding it tight against him, thinking of how to explain to Dean what had happened in a way that got the message across without revealing too much of the truth.

"Dean, I saw demons tonight. Monsters. They want me, I know they do, they want to drag me to hell with them."

"Shh, Sir, it was just a dream."

"A dream?" Castiel whispered, squeezing Dean's hand tighter, wishing with all he had that Dean was right, that nothing really happened to Castiel when he was awake. "No, this was no dream. I see them far too often to be a dream, though I would give anything to have it be as you say!"

"Only a dream sir, trust me. There are no demons here in your room, look around." He gestured with his free hand, but Castiel grabbed it as well, squeezing and looking only at Dean's face. He knew all there was around them was darkness, and he needed Dean's light.

"No, they are not here. They can not come if you are here." Castiel agreed. He couldn't say more, though he longed to....instead he bit his lip, looking down, then shyly looked back at Dean. "Will you stay here with me tonight?"

Dean paused, looking back towards his room. "Allow me to fetch some pillows, and I shall...."

"No!" Castiel pulled Dean closer. "I mean....here with me. You may share my bed. Please, Dean? If you are here, they can not come. And I can keep you safe....I will watch over you." Castiel needed this more than he could ever remember needing anything. He needed Dean here with him while he slept, needed him close. 

Dean hesitated for a second, then crawled into bed. Castiel's heart leaped, and he wondered how far he could take this, if he could lie close to Dean, or even touch him! But Dean seemed to know exactly how to lie in bed with another, how to provide comfort, and after getting comfortable himself, immediately reached for Castiel and pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him and gently resting Castiel's head on his chest.

It was everything that Castiel had dreamed, and more. He could feel Dean's breath, hear his steady heartbeat, smell his faint scent. He lay there, curled into Dean like a child, like he had done with the only mothers he had known, the nurses in the madhouse....like he had done with Mr. Lee when he was 10 and 11, before Zachariah had ordered him to stop coddling the boy. He felt warm, he felt at peace. He took a deep breath again, inhaling the very essence of Dean. 

He means to....he tried reciting his mantra, but the words died in his head. Who cared what Dean meant to do in the future? At this moment, he only meant to comfort Castiel, and Castiel would enjoy it. The dripping had stopped again, and Castiel fell asleep faster than he had in years. 

Castiel began spending each night in Dean's arms, and his entire world charged because of it. He slept better than he had in years, Dean's arms around him acting as some kind of shield from the night. Castiel would hug him back, and in the darkness he could believe that they were not master and servant, not scholar and thief, not secretly trying to destroy each other. In the darkness they were simply Castiel and Dean, two pieces of a puzzle that fit perfectly together. 

He continued to be distracted with his uncle however. One day Castiel was asked to read a book about the pleasures two men could provide for each other. He had read such books many times, even this specific one, and yet somehow the words wormed their way deep inside him, and he stumbled in his recitations. Zachariah screeched in rage, throwing a large brass paperweight at Castiel, forcing him to dive lest he be struck in the head. Two nights in a row, Castiel was denied dinner but forced to sit and watch as Zachariah entertained guests over wine and minced meat, daring any of them to ask why Castiel did not partake. 

Yet, Castiel had never found it more easy to endure. He had Dean by his side, all alone every day. Such isolation naturally breeds intimacy, and Castiel soon could not imagine life at the manor before Dean had arrived. Mr. Lee had walked behind Castiel, only spoke when spoken to, only gave answers he thought would be appropriate. Dean hooked his arm through Castiel's like a couple of school girls, and was not the slightest bit embarrassed by it. 

He would voice his opinion too, like the day he announced in no uncertain terms to Castiel, "If we play at this same card game one more time, I might throw the cards out the window."

Castiel gasped at first, then laughed. "Do you have any other ideas?"

"Any other game, please! I don't even care which one, even if I do not know it. Just a change of game!" Dean brought his hands together like he was begging, his green eyes open wide, and Castiel grinned; for a moment anyway, until he looked away feeling slightly embarrassed himself. 

"Actually Dean, I....I confess here, I don't know any other card games. This is the one that Naomi taught me in my youth, and the only one Mr. Lee knew as well, so I never learned others."

Dean blanched, then leaped up and grabbed the cards. "Oh that's it. Come here, sir!"

"Castiel."

"Castiel, sir!" 

Castiel chuckled at the old banter, then joined Dean at the table. 

"I'm going to teach you some games from home!" Dean announced, shuffling the cards like a professional gamer. Castiel was mesmerised by his hands on the deck, the confident way they moved. He almost missed the initial instructions, and had to tear his eyes away to listen. 

Dean taught Castiel several new card games after that, and Castiel was delighted to add this new variety to his days. His affection grew even more, until he thought it impossible that he could feel stronger for Dean than he did now.

One morning, Castiel woke up with the oddest sensation between his legs, and it took him almost 5 minutes to identify it as a morning erection. How strange that he, of all people, should not recognise arousal when it came upon him! He, with all his knowledge on the subject, all his experience with the theory, was caught completely off guard by it's reality. 

A healthy young man, Castiel was no stranger to the more inconvenient aspects of male physiology, but he had thought himself unaffected by such things. Since his puberty had ended all those years ago, and his uncle had started slowly but steadily built up his tolerance, his immunity, Castiel truly believed himself insusceptible to the physical reaction. While he knew that he craved Dean's closeness, his arms, his laugh, Castiel was caught unaware by his body's apparent desire for even more. 

He was fortunate that his mental analysis of the situation resulted in his erection fading before Dean woke up and asked questions. Such an occurrence would surely be humiliating, Castiel decided, and so he made a very strong effort to keep such things from Dean at all cost, even if it meant waking slightly earlier and willing himself to softness again.

If Dean ever noticed, or ever awoke with the same situation, Castiel had no way of knowing, though a small slightly shame filled corner of his mind hoped that Dean did. That Dean was not as unaware as he seemed. That he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on Castiel's heart, his soul, his groin. 

Castiel allowed himself this fantasy, clinging to Dean in the night, laughing with Dean in the day, all but forgetting the blade looming over them waiting to crash down and cut them apart. 

Until Gabriel wrote, and Castiel could forget it no longer.


	17. Chapter 17

Castiel remembered the day Gabriel's letter arrived in stark, crisp detail. Looking back, he would recognise it as the beginning of the end, but at the time he just knew it was an interruption to his otherwise charm filled day. Things had been going too well, apparently, but he savoured them while they lasted all the same. 

He remembered being unusually focused with Zachariah; the topic of the day being "Lusts Between Women", a subject that he felt utterly indifferent to. His inability to relate it with Dean in any way made him behave much like the obedient secretary he was meant to be. His uncle did not yell at or strike him at all, and informed him that there was to be no reading that night. Castiel was in a great mood when he returned to his rooms to lunch with Dean. 

He remembered eating chicken pot pie for lunch, and the look of pure joy on Dean's face when he saw the meal imprinted itself so thoroughly on Castiel's mind that he would see it for days afterwards whenever he closed his eyes. He had never thought something as simple as pie could make a man so happy. 

He remembered the feel of Dean's arm in his as they walked through the grounds. The wind was blowing with a hint of damp, making Castiel shiver, and Dean was quick to usher him inside. 

"I don't want you to catch a cold, Castiel sir!" Dean had said, in that deep husky voice of his. Castiel knew he wasn't so susceptible to illness, but allowed himself to be led back to the rooms anyway. He loved the feeling of Dean taking care of him. 

He remembered the steely glint in Dean's eye as he examined the cards in his hand. Dean played ruthlessly, viciously, taking no pity on Castiel despite the fact that Castiel was still figuring out the game and was technically Dean's employer. Dean would crow with victory when he won, behaviour Castiel would have punished out of Mr. Lee, but in Dean he found it endearing. Yet another way he could pretend they were simply two men enjoying each other's company. 

On this day however, Castiel was actually winning for a change. Dean seemed to grow more frustrated, and Castiel could not stop laughing at his face as he slammed his cards down again and again, cursing Castiel's skill in the casual, intimate way that only Dean had ever done with him. Castiel as a rule did not care if he won or lost at cards, but seeing Dean's reactions made him play ever harder.

He remembered the pale sunlight falling through Dean's hair, making it appear almost blonde, and he remembered staring at it, as Dean stared intently at his cards trying to thwart Castiel's winning streak, and having the vague thought of what it might feel like to run his fingers through. It was the thought that was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by Benny announcing that a letter had arrived for him. 

No one wrote to Castiel. Who would? He had no family that he knew of besides Zachariah, no friends for he had never left the manor. The nurses at the madhouse had surely forgotten him long ago, and all correspondence about the library went through his uncle. That left only one option.

Castiel felt Gabriel's sudden intrusion on the scene the way he would feel opening the door to a blizzard: a sharp smack of coldness, freezing him inside as well as out. 

He grabbed the letter from Benny and all but shoved him out the door, not wanting any more witnesses to his failings. What would Gabriel say if he knew how things had changed? 

Castiel found he couldn't face Dean as he read it, turning away and squeezing his eyes shut as he slit the envelope open with the opener on his desk. He could hear Dean shuffling the cards behind him, and used the sound to ground him. Castiel could do this. 

He read. "Castiel- Are you as impatient as I? I trust that you are. Is he there with you right now, watching you read this? I am eager for this to come to an end, for both our freedoms to begin! I have finished making all arrangements in the city, my cousin is ready as is a house in which you two may dwell. The police have been tipped off that "I" may be in hiding as a servant somewhere, so "my" arrest should come as no surprise to them. I shall arrive at Briar tomorrow, for the final step of this business! Burn this letter, will you?"

Castiel could hardly breathe and he folded the letter with trembling hands, again and again until it could get no smaller. He longed to burn it immediately, but feared how suspicious it would look. Dean was still watching him, still shuffling the cards, though they must be more thoroughly mixed now than ever before. Castiel remembered suddenly, the night before, when he and Dean had whispered to each other in the dark. 

"I had a tooth filed down once," Castiel had mentioned, after he had accidentally bit his lip, and Dean had anxiously checked to make sure it was ok. "Had that not happened, I'm sure this would have been still more painful."

"I used to help with that," Dean replied, his arms comfortably around Castiel. "The babies would cry, and I would fetch a thimble from M....my mother's sewing basket. She would hold their tiny mouths open and I would file down the unusually sharp teeth so they didn't hurt themselves." 

"There were many babies at Mr. Rickster's place?" Castiel had started gleaning that Dean must have spent time in an orphanage or some such place, for all he spoke of babies. When Castiel asked, however, Dean would always nervously change the subject. Babies hardly fit in with the gentleman's man servant narrative. Tonight was no exception. 

"Oh, just the usual, other babies of servants I guess. I am glad your tooth does not pain you now!" 

Such a nothing conversation, uninteresting and pointless, and Castiel could not say why it came back to him to clearly now, as he held Gabriel's letter in his still trembling hands. Was Dean's love of babies the very reason he was so able and willing to care for Castiel? Would he return to the orphanage when he was freed from prison? Or would he be too damaged, emotionally pained from the experience? Castiel could not imagine jail could be a positive place. Would his sweet, caring, thief with a heart of gold, emerge from this experience sullied and broken? Would he become as damaged as Castiel himself? What of Castiel then? What of Dean's babies? 

It had been silent too long, Dean was still watching him. Castiel swallowed, then spoke at last, his voice shaking. "It is from Mr. Rickster."

"I hope he sends good news." Dean's voice too sounded odd, strangely halting. Did he too feel Gabriel's unwanted intrusion into their lives? Or was he eager to be free of this post, thinking he would have access to Castiel's riches? 

"The best. For my uncle, that is." Castiel winced and looked away, unable to hold Dean's gaze a moment longer. "He is coming back to Briar, and will arrive tomorrow. My uncle has been waiting for Mr. Rickster's return so that he may finally get his pieces mounted."

"I guess you'll be glad as well for his help in your work." Dean said, his voice still strange and slow sounding, still shuffling the cards, again and again. 

Castiel nodded, shoving the letter clumsily into his pocket, and heading over toward the window. He stared out at the grounds, hearing the ticking of the clock, counting down the minutes he had left with Dean. How long would Gabriel take to mount the pictures? Would he even attempt to finish the job Zachariah hired him for, or would he wish to run out at the first chance, with Castiel and Dean? How long did he have left with this man? Days? Weeks? 

He wanted to tell Dean the truth, tell him anything. Tell him how he, Castiel, felt about Dean, how he yearned for him. How he awoke every morning, rock hard, and pretended to be asleep so as not to disturb the other man, willing himself to softness again. He wanted to hold Dean in his arms and feel their lips meet, feel their tongues entwine. He wanted Dean to confess everything, and promise that they would find a way to defeat Gabriel's scheme. 

"Hey, Cas." Dean's voice shocked Castiel out of his reverie. Had he just called him 'Cas'?? Was he really so bold? "Did you know that cards can tell your future?"

Castiel stared at him for a moment. This was a new level of intimacy, and he thought they could go no further! But what trick was this, what was Dean's plan here? 

"I thought that was just for gypsy fortune tellers."

"Well, don't tell Naomi or Benny, but my grandmother was a gypsy princess," Dean winked and Castiel's heart fluttered. Surely Dean spoke in jest. "Want me to tell your fortune?"

Castiel smiled nervously, and returned to the sitting table. "Sure, show me what you know."

Dean flipped over the first two cards in the deck: the jack of hearts and the three of spades. "Hmm, sad cards. This one is a young man, full of love but with nowhere to nurture it. An orphan, with no siblings. And here we see a struggle, the beginning of strife. This is your past."

Castiel's brow furrowed. He had never adopted the label 'orphan', but he knew logically it was true. "Go on."

"The next cards show your present." Dean flipped the next three. "The king of diamonds: a stern old man, rich but not truly wealthy in matters of life. The 5 of clubs: a parched mouth, someone yearning for more than this life, dreaming of something better. The Jack of spades...." Dean trailed off, and Castiel looked at him. Gabriel. Dean was talking about Gabriel. His heart sank. He asked anyway. 

"Who is the jack of spades? Dean?"

"A young man with a plan, a vision for the future. A good man, trustworthy."

Castiel couldn't even look at Dean anymore. He was still working for Gabriel. He was still scheming. 

"Now your future."

Dean turned up the six of spades. "A journey! Perhaps a trip with Mr. Angeles? Or a journey of the heart...." Dean trailed off, looking up at Castiel, who was staring intently at him. A journey of the heart...yes, that he could see. His heart had already journeyed so far to meet Dean's, and now seemed destined to remain there, though Dean's heart was not returning the favour.

"My uncle never takes me anywhere," he said slowly. Dean nodded, understandingly. Was he trying to tell Castiel something? He exhaled slowly, then looked away from Dean, back at the cards. "Is that it then?"

"One more," Dean said, flipping the next one. He stared at it though, his face creasing in confusion, and Castiel understood. Dean had stacked the deck, trying to get a certain outcome, and he had made a mistake. 

"The jack of diamonds? Who is that, Dean?"

Dean still didn't answer, looking around him, clearly doing some quick thinking. Castiel felt a twisted sort of happiness at Dean's distress, then immediately felt guilty. That was the old Castiel, he cursed himself, who happily punished others because he was so impotent in his own life. The Castiel Dean knew was good. He had to be that way. 

"Dean?"

"The Jack of diamonds....another young man. And a promise....of great wealth." Dean finished lamely.

"Great wealth...." Castiel said slowly, staring at Dean as Dean raised his eyes to look at Castiel's. He saw then, he saw the flicker of something behind them. The green eyes were hiding guilt. Dean was still working for Gabriel....but maybe he no longer wanted to. 

"I don't believe you." Castiel didn't move, barley breathed, just held Dean's gaze as long as he could. He had seen it now, it had seen the guilt, the truth, the war happening inside Dean's head. Dean was trapped between loyalty to his life in the city, his promise to Gabriel, and his newfound affection for Castiel. Castiel knew. He just hadn't won the battle yet. 

"The cards don't lie." Dean said at last, breaking the silence and taking up shuffling again. 

"Well I don't believe it anyway." Castiel stood up and walked back toward the window. He could do something about this. Gabriel was coming, but it wasn't over. Dean had doubts, and Castiel could use them. He could take Gabriel's plan and make it theirs. He just had to think of a plan. 

He noticed much later that the two of hearts had developed a crease that was not there before. He guessed it was the card Dean had meant to turn up, that more accurately told the story Dean was looking to tell. He didn't know what it was supposed to mean, in fortune telling, but the two hearts together on the card reminded him vaguely of he and Dean, their hearts beating together as they slept. He noted that card every day. 

 

The next day, Castiel pulled Dean outside the moment they had finished eating their lunch. He tried not to think of it as one last stroll together around the grounds, but he couldn't erase the feeling that said that was the case. He could only hope that Dean did not pick up on his nervousness. He felt Gabriel slinking closer with every passing hour.

They were walking arm in arm when Bobby's cart finally plodded into view. Castiel gasped at the sight of Gabriel in the distance, more striking and real than any demon from Castiel's dreams. Why was he allowing this man to destroy everything??

He ran towards the cart, leaving Dean to follow behind him, though he wasn't sure at all what he was planning to do. Yell at him? Strike him? fall back into one of his rages from his youth? He ignored Benny standing at the doorway, and drew himself up, bracing himself, as Gabriel hopped down with a grin, and grabbed Castiel's hand in his own. 

"Cassie, my boy! Wonderful to be back here at good old Briar, wonderful indeed! How have you been?"

"Very well, thank you" Castiel said, pulling his hand from Gabriel's, a shot of annoyance at the new nickname. He recalled Dean calling him "Cas" yesterday and grimaced. At least Gabriel hadn't used the same one, taken all specialness from it. "And please don't call me 'Cassie'". 

"Of course, of course." Gabriel winked and Castiel shuddered again as he realised Gabriel had moved his gaze to Dean. "And Dean-o! The country air is doing you well. I hope you are serving your new master as best you can?"

Dean-o? Castiel shuddered again, glad he had never played with Dean's name. Dean was just Dean, and the familiarity with which Gabriel spoke to him made Castiel's skin crawl. The words he longed to say to Gabriel, the anger that burned within him, was starting to smoulder out however, now that they were face to face. What could he possibly say? How could he explain that he no longer wanted to participate because he had developed an affection....an unnatural, perverted affection...for the thief they had meant to double cross? Gabriel would laugh, surely. He would mock him endlessly, blaming the books and their influence. He might even tell Dean! And then what would happen, would they laugh together, laughing at Castiel's deepest secret? 

"The man loves you, Dean-o!"

"Loves? Surely loves as a gentleman loves a servant?"

"Only in a pornographer's telling! He loves you as a wife might love a husband, fancies himself IN love with you!" 

Their laughter echoed in Castiel's ears, until he was half convinced the exchange had really taken place, not only in his mind. He realised he had missed Dean's response to Gabriel, and as they were both now watching him, Castiel scrambled for something to say. 

"Yes, Dean is working out splendidly, thank you so much for your recommendation. I could not be more pleased with him." Castiel said, unable to resist looking fondly at Dean for a moment before turning his much colder gaze to Gabriel. "I can't believe your family was so willing to give him up, he goes above and beyond what an average manservant would do."

"Does he now?" Gabriel rubbed his chin, a slight smirk on his lips as if he himself was the one being complimented.

"Just doing my job." Dean said respectfully, and Castiel resisted the urge to hook their arms together again, pulling Dean close. He wanted more than anything to protect him from Gabriel's influence.

"Shall we head on inside? Dean can help your other men carry my luggage, I do believe I brought half the city's art supplies with me! Castiel, I should like to speak with your Uncle right away about his plans for the prints and what I can do to help." Gabriel rubbed his hands together, looking up at the manor, and Castiel grit his teeth before answering.

"Of course, I shall take you to him now." Castiel made the after you motion with his arm, and the two headed inside, Castiel's entire body clenched as he left Dean outside and walked along with Gabriel toward the library.

"I'm so pleased that Mr. Smith is working out so well for you." Gabriel said again once they were inside. Castiel cast his eyes around, then looked pointedly at Gabriel, hoping to communicate without words that they could not speak freely here, servants had long ears. 

"Yes, he has settled in nicely and I am quite pleased with his work." Castiel replied, forcing his voice to sound formal. 

"My plan is working then!" Gabriel chuckled. "My top secret plan of expressing my gratitude to you for this job, that is."

Castiel glared straight ahead, breathing deeply through his nose. "A foolproof plan indeed. Though it is my uncle who secured you this job, not I.'

"I hope the plan is as foolproof as you say," Gabriel replied, "and there have been no changes of heart in regards to my skills! I worked hard to make the necessary preparations for your collection."

Castiel hated that Gabriel could speak so frank, hated that he understood the underlying message. Things were ready, the plans were finished, they needed only to act.

"The library." Castiel said instead of commenting, and pulled open the door without knocking. He knew Zachariah hated that, and was pleased for the chance to annoy him, knowing he would not face retribution in front of Gabriel. 

"Uncle, pardon the intrusion. I present Mr. Rickster, returned to us to complete the mounting of our pictures."

Castiel grinned at the look of anger Zachariah sent his way, confident in his immunity as long as there were witnesses besides Luc around. Gabriel strode forwards, beaming, hand outstretched, and Zachariah was forced to take it, painfully smiling in return. 

"Of course, Mr. Rickster! Welcome back to Briar, I trust you had a pleasant trip."

"Pleasant enough, dear man, pleasant enough! Best we could hope for from a train ride."

"Yes, can't say I bother much with the machinery. My sensitivities simply wouldn't allow it." Zachariah smiled painfully, and Castiel noticed a smear of ink on his lip. It made him look slightly more sinister than usual. Castiel smirked. 

"Ah, if only we all had your fortunes, my good sir! Now, I am having my supplies brought in as we speak, and should be able to begin work first thing in the morning, but what say you show me some of the fascinating things you have done since my last visit, and we can discuss what still needs to be completed!"

"Yes, yes, let us look! Castiel, do you not have work to do?"

Castiel started. "It is after 4pm, Uncle, my work hours have finished." 

"Ah, but mine have not! And as I must now show our friendly coworker around, I ask you to continue where I left off, if you please." Zachariah's expression left no room for argument, and Castiel cursed him thoroughly in his head before sitting down to work. 

For Zachariah had found the perfect way to punish Castiel in the presence of Gabriel. He could not strike him, threaten him, nor starve him, all his usual methods of control, but he could make him work; and work he did. Castiel had not spent so much time in the library in his entire life as he did over the next few weeks. As much as Zachariah was unwilling to physically or verbally abuse Castiel with Gabriel as a witness, so to was Castiel unwilling to fight back with Gabriel in the room. In theory, he thought, it didn't matter if he made a scene and refused to work beyond his normal hours, but in practice; 11 long years of ducking his uncle's punishments, 11 long years of learning how best to behave so as to not accrue Zachariah's wrath...it was hard to turn those lessons off in his head.


	18. Chapter 18

"Cas?" Dean whispered to him one night as they lay in bed. They always spoke in bed these nights, even more so since Gabriel had arrived: it was one of the only times they got to spend together, what with Castiel's new work demands. 

Castiel felt a small squirm of pleasure at the nickname. "Yes?"

"What exactly do you do all day? I mean, I know I am not meant to ask questions about the library, but I don't really understand how there is so much more work for you now."

Dean didn't say Gabriel's name. Castiel noticed early on that Dean almost never said it, almost the same way that he, Castiel, tried to never say Briar. But Castiel felt the name in the air anyway, in Dean's question. 

He thought back to that day. In the morning, he had rewritten a long passage from "The Whipping Milliners", which Gabriel had suggested would make a lovely wall print. This was a shift from Castiel's usual duties, and he hadn't much appreciated it today. Shortly after completing the copying, Luc had arrived with soup for lunch, and Zachariah had insisted on Castiel putting all books and papers away correctly so as to protect them from any accidental food contaminants. Luc had "helped" him, by hissing snide comments in his ear when they were out of view of Gabriel and Zachariah, and once even pinching his buttock. 

After lunch, Castiel had catalogued the books related to "The Whipping Milliners", expanding on Zachariah's exhaustive list of the pleasures as related to pain. This was his usual duty, but Zachariah kept finding more for him to write, until Benny finally stood on the safe side of the brass line and announced dinner. Five Men of Letters had joined them to eat, and listen to Castiel read afterwards, though he was miraculously spared any nudity tonight. 

"My uncle is trying to impress Mr. Rickster," Castiel told Dean, pushing the reality of his day from his mind. "He wishes to show off how hard working and studious we are. I am doing nothing of import however, merely maintaining the charade for Mr. Rickster's sake." 

He snuggled closer to Dean, breathing in his scent as he lay on his chest. "Mostly I was thinking about how much I'd rather be here with you."

Dean squeezed Castiel quickly before replying. "I wish that too. It is dreadfully dull without you here."

They had began speaking in this way when the lights were out and neither man could see the other's face while doing it. Yet another trick to help Castiel maintain his own illusion, pretending the truth of their relationship was more intimate than it was in reality. 

"I believe it is even more dull in the library," Castiel replied softly, then remembering the role he was meant to be playing, added with a sigh, "Though I suppose Mr. Rickster keeps in entertaining. He is quite witty."

Castiel swore he felt Dean stiffen, before replying somewhat with a somewhat stilted, "Yes, I suppose he is."

 

The days continued to pass with very little change, save one: Gabriel's growing frustrations with Castiel. Castiel couldn't quite explain why, but he swore he saw Gabriel watching him with an annoyed look on his face during the long hours they spent in the library. 

One afternoon, Zachariah stepped out to use the privy, Luc accompanying him, leaving Gabriel and Castiel alone in the library, and Castiel finally found the source of Gabriel's irritation.

"Why are you making us wait, Castiel?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "We are waiting for you. I could be finished here within days if you gave me a sign you are ready. Why the delay? I am forced to work at half my normal pace."

"I had no inkling that you were awaiting my say so," Castiel replied coolly, though honestly. He really did not know that anything was resting on him these days. 

"Does Dean expect you are ready to run away from this place?" Gabriel shot a glance toward the door, making sure Zachariah was not returning.

"I do not know what Dean expects," Castiel answered, focusing his eyes on the papers before him. "I can hardly read his mind."

"Castiel." Gabriel grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at him. "Make Dean believe. Make him think he has convinced you. You do neither of us any favours by waiting here."

"I am not ready yet," Castiel confessed. "I need more time."

"This is not what we agreed upon! Too much more time and the plan will start to unravel. The police might find out where I really am, arresting me long before we can put anything into motion, leaving you trapped here for who knows how much longer."

Castiel looked around the library, his eyes taking in the vast array of paintings that Gabriel had stacked together, that he was slowly mounting for display purposes on behalf of Zachariah. Castiel couldn't stay here. But he wasn't ready to give up Dean...he couldn't possibly give up Dean.

"Give me a month."

"Castiel!"

"Please, Gabriel. One month to prepare myself, to convince Dean. Then I will go with you, you will get your money and freedom."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "I'll give you three weeks. But I hope you know what you're doing...the longer you wait, the harder it will be."

 

Zachariah grew more confident in Gabriel's trustworthiness, even allowing him to be alone in the library while Castiel and Zachariah ran errands around the house, or on a few occasions looked at a new, large, photograph that would not comfortably fit in their library.

"I'm sending it back," Zachariah had proclaimed after an hour of studying it. "Photography is a strange fashion, and not one that will last, mark my words! While the model in this work is surely stunning, the work itself lacks the artistic merit of the etchings in our books, wouldn't you say Castiel?"

"Yes, Uncle."

"There is just no replacing the classic ways, no matter how much the new technology tries."

"Yes, Uncle." Castiel wondered if there might someday be a new technology that would enable him to beat Zachariah in the head without leaving a trace of evidence linking Castiel back to the crime. 

He stumbled back to his rooms after dinner one night, feet and voice sore and exhausted from a particularly long reading session. Seeing Dean leap to his feet as Castiel pushed the door open felt more wonderful than he imagined any possible sight could be. Dean's brow was furrowed in concern as he took Castiel's arm and led him to the sofa. 

"Cas, you can't keep working like this! You will fall ill if you try, the human body was not meant for such treatment!"

Dear, sweet, caring Dean. Castiel looked up at him, his heart swelling. How could any man be so good? What Castiel wouldn't give for just a hint of Dean's innocence! Had Dean been born a gentleman like himself, what amazing feats could he have accomplished, with a soul so good, so pure?

"I'll be fine, Dean. Knowing you are here waiting for me gets me through."

"Cas, I'm serious. You need to take a rest." Dean cupped Castiel's face with his cheek, looking at him earnestly. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

Castiel put his hand over Dean's, leaning into it. "Thank you for caring."

 

The days rushed past, and Castiel started feeling sick. He didn't mention it to Dean, didn't use it to try and get out of work with Zachariah, denied it if anyone asked him if something was wrong. He knew this was no virus, no sickness of the body. He was sick in his heart.

The first of Castiel's allotted three weeks past, and Castiel vomited for the first time. He was able to make it out to the privy, hiding the evidence from Dean and the servants, but he shook violently as he knelt on the filthy floor of the tiny shack. The time was escaping him, and he didn't know how to stop it, he didn't know what he could do to fix his problem. He wracked his brain over long hours in the library, before going to sleep at night, while reading to the Men of Letters; how could he stop this plot, how could he put a halt to that which was already in motion? 

He could see only two options for his life now: follow the plan, leave with Gabriel and hope that when Dean gets out of prison, he doesn't hate Castiel and would be willing to see him again; or refuse to leave with Gabriel, tell Dean the truth, and hope that somehow Dean would overcome his criminal instincts and volunteer to stay with Castiel. Neither option seemed likely, which caused a fresh wave of bile to rise in Castiel's chest. Why would Dean stay? What did Castiel have to offer him besides a servant's post in a neglected manor, far from Dean's family, his friends, his whole world. Why would Dean give that up for him? And could Castiel do it himself, could Castiel give up his freedom in exchange for Dean's? If he didn't leave now with Gabriel, he might never get another chance. He would age here, he would die here.....or perhaps his mother's madness might catch him at last, and he'd end his days where they began, in the madhouse. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The blood had been hushed, almost silent, since Castiel had started sharing a bed with Dean, but now it came dripping back into focus, steadily, more loudly than ever before. He saw it with perfect clarity, the madhouse bed, the straps, the blood falling to the floor, spreading across the white tiles to the drain in the middle. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Castiel couldn't do it. He had to leave, he had to leave before the madness caught him too. 

The second week passed, and Castiel clung to Dean like a drowning man clings to a life vest. Risking his uncle's wrath more and more, but caring less and less, Castiel started making excuses to leave early, claiming some of his afternoons back. Zachariah was growing more enraged with each passing day, but Castiel felt immune, for the first time in his life, to fear of this man. He had to see Dean as much as possible. He had to be with him. 

Gabriel noted this change, and began watching Castiel curiously. One day, he took advantage once again of them being alone temporarily in the library to bring it up. 

"I wonder, Castiel, what matter of thinking keeps us here. Has your conscience shifted? Your courage weakened? Are your morals troubling you, now that the stranger has a face, and a handsome one at that?"

Castiel startled, then tried to cover the movement with a cough, a scratch, but Gabriel saw it. His eyes narrow.

"Is that it? You must remember where Dean came to us from. He has a decent enough face, but remember what he uses it for! Why, when I went to him for this scheme, his hair was unkempt, his nails dirty, his clothes the sort of plain you couldn't imagine, with your experiences in finery. I am the one who washed him, clothed him, taught him how to speak well and behave himself. Why, if you had known the real man, saw where he came from, you would not even consider the idea that he deserved leniency!"

"Would you move? You're blocking my light." Castiel tried to ignore the ranting, ignore Gabriel's words, though they seemed to be getting etching onto his vary mind.

"You're standing in mine! By keeping us here!"

"I have one week left."

"One week we could be spending in freedom, if not for you! Please tell me, enlighten me as to why you insist on making us......." Gabriel trailed off, bringing a hand to his mouth. Castiel looked up, expecting to see Zachariah or Luc, but they were still alone. Gabriel's eyes were wide, his mouth twisting into almost a smile. He glanced at the books around them, then back. 

"Oh, Castiel......"

And there, with those two words alone, Castiel saw it. He saw it reflected in Gabriel's own face, and he burned with humiliation. Gabriel had guessed. Gabriel knew. 

"I expected many things from you, expected these books had altered you in some way, twisted you, but this....this I could not have anticipated."

"You know nothing about it." Castiel said furiously, feeling his old anger swelling within him. 

"You are lucky I am a rogue and have my own code...do you know what Dean's sort of people do to men like you? The city folks would gossip and laugh, but that would be like music to your ears after you saw what Dean's people do. And even if you escape the societal aspects, you can still go to jail if caught out, were you aware of that?"

Castiel shook with barely controlled rage. Gabriel knew nothing, NOTHING of Castiel's feelings, of his and Dean's profound bond! Gabriel began to laugh, and laugh harder, not even trying to stifle himself, and Castiel felt himself crack. Grabbing the metal bookend off the shelf, he growled and swung it toward Gabriel, who saw it just in time and dove aside, catching the blow on his thigh instead of his ribs where Castiel had aimed. 

Gabriel grabbed Castiel's arm and twisted til he howled, dropping his makeshift weapon, then wrenched the arm behind Castiel's back, effectively pinning him against Gabriel himself, his chest heaving. 

"Let me make myself plain," Gabriel hissed in Castiel's ear. "I am going to finish this job and announce that I will leave on Saturday. That gives you 4 more days to dream about Dean's cock up your ass, or whatever else you are imagining in that broken little head of yours. You will pack your belongings, and I will take your luggage with me when I go. You will wait until nightfall, and meet me by the road, WITH DEAN, and together we shall flee. I will turn Dean into the police as soon as we arrive in the city. You will do NOTHING to slow down, impede, delay, or in any way interfere with this plan, or else I will tell Dean about your little perverted fantasy. And maybe then, when he looks at you with utter disgust and repulsion, maybe then you will be willing to do what needs to be done." 

He spun Castiel around and looked him in the eye. "I can't force you to come along with me Castiel, but I can take away both Dean and your freedom in one easy move. If you come between me and the wealth I have been promised, I promise YOU, I will do just that." He let go with a small shove. "Now go see your man servant. I will make your excuses with Zachariah."

Castiel turned and fled the room without so much as a backwards glance, but he ran outside instead of to his rooms, waiting until he reached his mother's grave before giving in to the tears that had been threatening to fall since Gabriel started talking. 

"I hate you," he whispered to his mother, though the effect was softened slightly as he wept. "I hate you for succumbing and I hate you for dying. How could you leave me with Zachariah? How could you not care? I am weak because of you, and now Dean must suffer for my weakness. Why must Dean be the one to suffer?"

The grave was silent, but Castiel heard the same response he always did. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.


	19. Chapter 19

Gabriel may have mocked his affections, but Castiel couldn't help but notice that his behaviour started to run counter to the attitude he'd displayed. He continued to make excuses for Castiel, almost apologetically, to Zachariah, allowing him afternoons off once more. Castiel could almost lie to himself and say it was because Gabriel was feeling sympathy for splitting the two men up. 

When Castiel arrived back at his rooms at lunch time the day after his exchange with Gabriel, Dean had leaped to his feet in surprise. 

"Cas! I would have come to fetch you if I had known you would be released early today."

Castiel took a moment before answering, just soaking in Dean's appearance, his presence. His light brown hair was slightly mussed, as though he had run his hands through it by accident and had not succeeded in fixing the result. His shirt sleeves were loosened, no doubt to increase his comfort while he assumed he would be alone most of the afternoon. His green eyes had lit up at Castiel's arrival....or perhaps that was just what Castiel had wanted to see. He couldn't be sure, but he wished it was so. 

"Gabriel went into town to run an errand," Castiel lied, though he was unsure why he was bothering. Dean didn't know the details of what happened during the long work hours anyway. 

"Well I am pleased to hear it, I confess that it is awfully dull here without you." Dean's eyes did twinkle at that, and Castiel looked away, biting back a grin. They rarely voiced such sentiments in the day light. 

Dean had been playing a solo game of cards, but he rushed to clean the deck as Castiel rang Benny to request lunch. Looking back at Dean, he noticed that the creased 2 of hearts was on the very top of the deck. He bit back a smile again. 

They ate pleasantly, Castiel almost forgetting the unfortunate circumstances that had made the afternoon possible. They joked with each other and laughed, talking about nothing and yet everything. Benny came back to clear their tray, and Castiel jumped up, a surprising thought entering his head. 

"Dean, I'm going to teach you to ride!" He really couldn't think of a reason to do so, except that he could picture Dean sitting astride a horse, wind blowing in his hair, sun lighting up his face, and Castiel knew he dearly wanted to see that. 

Dean looked up in surprise. "Really? Today?"

"Yes, right now!" Castiel grinned, glancing out the window to see the sun shining brightly. "Let's change our clothes, and go out, while the weather is still beautiful!"

Dean was quiet for a moment, then spoke with a slight hesitation. "I...I don't really have any other clothes." 

Castiel had forgotten; in the past few months he had only seen Dean in the same outfits. It was no matter though, he had extra. 

"Oh...good point. I guess you will have to wear some of mine! Come here!" He grabbed Dean's hand and pulled him through to the bedroom.

Flinging open the wardrobe, Castiel rifled through his outfits, pushing aside his library clothing, his dinner wear, hunting for the least used of his outfits, the casual riding wear. He finally found it all but buried at the bottom, and stood up with a flourish, waving two shirts and two pairs of trousers in the air. 

"I do have two of these! You're a bit leaner than I am, but they should do alright. Come here, let's get you dressed." Dean was leaner indeed, Castiel thought, his eyes roving over Dean's body. These clothes might hang off him, in a casual yet sensual way...once the wind picked up, perhaps it would pull at the shirt strings, opening at the collar for Castiel to see...

"Here, Cas, I can do it." Dean reached for the clothes, snapping Castiel out of his thoughts, but Castiel just held them out of reach, laughing. 

"Nope, not today! Today I am the servant and you are the gentleman! Now come on, sir, raise your arms so we can take off your shirt!"

Dean hesitated again, clearly wondering if it was proper, but eventually raised his arms and Castiel grinned again. If this was to be one of their last days together, he was determined to have to most fun possible. 

Castiel approached Dean with the shirt in hands, but felt his grin slipping off as he reached out and actually touched the other man, placing his hands on Dean's hips. Castiel had meant to just grab the hem of Dean's shirt to help remove it, but Dean was staring intently at him, and Castiel shivered slightly before finally remembering what he was supposed to do, and he pulled the shirt off in one quick, fluid motion. 

Dean saw Castiel undressed daily, but Castiel had never seen Dean. Having him standing there now, in front of Castiel wearing only an undershirt, made Castiel's heart race. His mouth opened a little as he took in the sight, Dean's strong arms fully visible, the dip in his collarbone, the slightest hint of body hair, his bobbing Adam's apple as he swallowed, then reached for his shirt. Castiel held it out of reach, completely without thinking. He hadn't intended to continue teasing Dean, but the thought of him putting a shirt back on was unpleasant. Castiel wanted to enjoy this. 

Looking into Dean's eyes, Castiel removed his own shirt. He swore, as his face was momentarily hidden by fabric, that he heard Dean gasp, but by the time he looked at him again, Dean's face was composed, if slightly flushed. Castiel was sure his cheeks showed colour as well. Burning the image of the two of them with their shirts off into his memory, Castiel proceeded to pull Dean's shirt on for him, the way he had been dressed himself since coming to his uncle's; but instead of speaking formally, Castiel couldn't help whispering instructions into Dean's ear. He almost feared that if he spoke too loud, he would break whatever spell they had fallen under. 

The spell broke itself however, when Dean fumbled with his trousers and Castiel suddenly realised what was happening. What had he been thinking, he chastised himself. This was the kind of behaviour from Zachariah's books, the kind that led to situations that....while Castiel would dearly love to explore....were unlikely ever to evolve for them. Surely he was just making Dean uncomfortable. He gave Dean his trousers, and put his own on by himself. Once they were fully dressed, he pulled them in front of the mirror and forced a laugh. 

"Look at us! We could be brothers." The words felt like dirt in his mouth. 

"Yeah, brothers" Dean replied, sinking Castiel's heart still further. Dean agreed, they were essentially family. Castiel didn't want to be family, but he would accept it if that's what Dean wanted. He would accept anything Dean wanted. 

Castiel led the way outside, determined to look confident and at ease, despite the storm of emotions raging inside his head. While thoroughly aware of Dean's presence, he could feel him in the very air it seemed, Castiel tried not to look at him too closely. He was afraid of what Dean might see in his eyes. He talked jovially with Mr. Singer, the groom, his source of so much information in the past. Castiel wondered briefly what Mr. Singer would think of Castiel's affections for Dean, then dismissed the thought. It wouldn't matter in a few days anyway. He hoped Mr. Singer would not think too harshly of him when he left. 

It wasn't until Mr Singer had brought out the fully saddled horses, then gone back into the stable, that Castiel finally looked at Dean. 

"This girl here is called Charlie," Castiel gestured to the horse he rode most often, then pointed to the slower, more easy going one. "and this grey one is Chuck. He's a bit skittish, but more easy going than Charlie who can be a bit more of a challenge. Here, why don't you take Chuck's reins?"

Castiel grinned, at how awkwardly Dean held the reins, then gently adjusted his grip. They walked together a bit, heading away from the barn, letting Dean get used to the horse, and vice versa. He looked.....handsome. Castiel blushed a bit at the thought, but he looked just so classically handsome, walking with the horse. It made a perfect picture.

They stopped close to the trees that marked the border of the small family cemetery, but Castiel turned his back to it, not in the mood to see his mother's grave right now. He tied Charlie to a tree branch, then turned to Dean. 

"Ok, let's get you sitting on Chuck!" 

It soon became apparent, to Castiel's great amusement, that Dean had zero natural abilities for horsemanship. Castiel admittedly was probably not the best teacher, but he could not help but laugh as Dean awkwardly flopped himself onto the back of Chuck's increasingly uneasy back, unsuccessfully. 

Castiel demonstrated a couple times the proper technique, but soon was simply laughing harder as Dean fell back onto the grass for the third time, Chuck snorting and walking away. The disgruntled look on the horse's face matched Dean's perfectly, and it was just the icing on the cake, and Castiel howled. 

"Dean, you have to stop doing this, my sides will split!" he managed, wiping tears from his eyes. 

"Oh, you think it's funny to see me bruised and covered in mud?" Dean shot back, freeing his foot from where it was tangled in the stirrup and standing up. 

Castiel just nodded, chortling to himself. 

"It's hard, ok?? I've never tried this before!" Dean stomped his foot childlike, and Castiel gasped for breath, his heart swelling with affection.

"I know, I know" Castiel grinned. "Here, I'll help you more." 

He came behind Dean, stepping right into his space, breathing him in before speaking. "Ok, put your hands here..." he gestured at the edges of the saddle, "...now your foot goes here." Feeling a swell of bravery, Castiel reached down and cupped Dean's calf, helping it rise into the stirrup. 

Dean hopped a few times, gaining momentum, then Castiel riding his wave of bravery, reached out and cupped Dean's rear, boosting him upwards. He gasped out loud at the feel of it under his hands, and hoped dearly that Dean was too distracted to notice. It was the closest Castiel had ever gotten to feeling Dean as much as he dreamed he would. 

The rest of the lesson passed in a blur, Castiel losing himself in the joy of riding again, in the memory of being so close to Dean, and the less enjoyable invasive thoughts wondering when he would get to ride at all again. Surely it wasn't as common a pastime in the city. Castiel would occasionally snap out of his thoughts in time to see Dean struggling to get Chuck moving at all, steering him in the right direction, trying to pull his head up when he decided eating grass looked more fun than walking after Castiel and Charlie. Each time he noticed, he would be overcome with laughter again, shouting advice and help, before disappearing back into his gloomy thoughts. It wasn't even until the light started to change, signally the approaching dusk, that Castiel thought to return the animals to Mr. Singer and head inside before dinner. 

As they returned to the manor, Castiel looked over at Dean and smothered yet another grin. Dean was filthy. Not just a little dusty or sweaty like Castiel was, but FILTHY, covered in mud and grime, horsehair and grass stains. His usually perfect hair was mussed and several shades darker due to the grime. 

A wicked idea entered Castiel's mind, a truly inappropriate idea that he knew right away would be foolish to the extreme: he could bathe Dean. 

The idea did things to Castiel's anatomy that made him shift to adjust his shirt and his arms, hoping to hide the situation from any wandering eyes. Surely there was no way he could make it through such an experience while maintaining his dignity, his professionalism. And yet....Dean had bathed him several times now, even after Castiel had accepted the physical reaction he had to Dean's closeness, but it had never been an issue during those times. His bath was simply an activity that Dean was required to be present for in his role as a servant. He barely even remembered them, they were so unnotable. 

This was different though. Castiel was not the servant, and helping Dean bathe was not his job; but much like dressing him earlier, this was something Castiel dearly wanted to do, and he couldn't properly explain why. 

"You require a bath." He stated upon arriving in his rooms. He rang for Benny, not looking at Dean as he heard the surprise in his voice. 

"A bath?" 

"Of course." Castiel glanced over at Benny, who had just opened the door. "Benny, can you please prepare a bath for Mr. Smith?" 

"Of course, sir. Shall we set it up in his rooms?"

"No, here is fine." Definitely here. Dean would be washed here. 

Benny bowed and left the room, and Dean spoke. "Here?"

"Of course, it's much more spacious than your tiny room. You bathe me in here anyway, what difference does it make?" Castiel headed for the bedroom. "I think I will dress myself now. No offence, but you're filthy and I don't want you touching my clean clothes." He grinned good naturedly, then disappeared through the doorway, half convinced that Dean could hear his pounding heart from across the room. 

Castiel needed a few moments to collect himself before going back into the sitting room. he changed his clothes by himself, quickly, then sat on the bed with his head in his hands, trying to catch his breath. This was crazy. He couldn't do this. Why had he even suggested it? He could hear the tub brought into the sitting room, the water being carried up, and he gulped, running his hands over his face again. 

He heard dripping water and his head shot up suddenly before he realised: he was hearing the water instead of blood. He....he never heard the blood when Dean was there. 

The realisation smacked him in the face and he gasped out loud, his hand going to his chest. He NEVER HEARD THE BLOOD WHEN DEAN WAS AROUND! Breathing heavily, he looked around wildly, knowing Dean was in the other room, likely waiting for him, but Castiel couldn't even think about moving. This was remarkable. This was life altering. Dean was changing Castiel's life. 

He heard the sitting room door close and knew the bath was likely full. Dean would be out there, wondering what to do next. Would he start before Castiel got there? A shaky grin escaped through his trembling lips. He knew Dean well enough to know that Dean would wait for him. He wouldn't feel comfortable until Castiel was there; and Castiel would never feel comfortable if Dean wasn't. 

He summoned his courage and went through the door. Just as he had anticipated, Dean was standing awkwardly by the tub, his arms waving nervously. Yet another example of how Dean was truly not meant to be a servant. Castiel huffed affectionately. 

"Dean, just climb into the tub! What are you waiting for?"

Dean turned his back to Castiel, but not before Castiel caught a blush rising in his cheeks. He swallowed as his stomach flip flopped excitedly, then came up behind him, putting his hands on Dean's hips. 

"Want me to be the servant again?" Castiel whispered into Dean's ear, aware yet again of how much it sounded lie one of Zachariah's books. Dean was shaking slightly, and Castiel gave his hips a small squeeze of reassurance before reaching around, pulling Dean's shirt, and then undershirt off, before carefully turning him around. 

Castiel's eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. Dean was fully bare chested, and looked stunning. His nipples were dark, matching the smattering of freckles that seemed to be everywhere, and contrasting with his light skin. Any chest hair was so blonde and fine that it might as well not even be there and Castiel was reaching out to feel for himself before he suddenly stopped himself. He wanted to so badly but....wait, he whispered in his head. He could do it once Dean was in the bath, and had an excuse to touch.

He instead loosened the ties on Dean's riding pants, fumbling a bit as they were different than the buttoned trousers warn usually. Getting them open, Castiel bit his lip, thinking of absolutely anything that was not the action he was currently performing.

"You'll have to step out of those," Castiel said, horribly aware that his voice about an octave lower than usual. Was he imagining Dean's flushed cheeks, his eyes looking dark, pupils dilated? 

Dean stepped out of his trousers, kicking off his shoes and socks as well, then turned his back to Castiel before removing his own shorts and stepping into the tub. Castiel absolutely did not let out an audible whimper at the sight of Dean's flawless expanse of skin. 

Either Benny or Hannah had left clean towels and a washcloth on a chair near the tub, and Castiel picked up the cloth before kneeling beside the tub and dipping it in. The water was warm and perfect, a hint of oil had been added, making it extra slippery between his fingers. He reached out, bringing the dripping cloth up to Dean's back.

"Relax, Dean." Castiel murmured, despite the fact that he himself may never have been less relaxed in his entire life. He started with Dean's shoulders, running the cloth along the left, than right, rising up to get the back of his neck when he passed it. His other hand chased the cloth, sliding across Dean's wet skin.He could feel the blood rushing southward, heat pooling in his stomach, then groin. He was growing hard. 

Castiel grit his teeth, determined to will it away as he did so many mornings. He dipped the cloth down Dean's arms, once again going from left to right, stopping only to add soap to the cloth from the bar on the ledge. Reaching his forearms, Castiel pulled each one out of the water, holding Dean's wrist while he worked the cloth up and down. He was vaguely aware of Dean staring at him. It did not help his erection go away. 

Coming back to the shoulders, Castiel took a chance and looked up and met Dean's eyes, keeping his hands still for just a moment before letting them slip down to Dean's chest. Dean's eyes closed as Castiel brought his cloth and hand down to Dean's stomach and back up, flitting gently over his nipples before slipping back down, even dipping playfully into his bellybutton, before ghosting gently over to his hips. Castiel had never been a religious man, but he was certain suddenly that if heaven was a real place, this is exactly what it would be like.

Dean opened his eyes and looked at Castiel, and there was no denying it this time: his pupils were blown wide. Castiel's heart started to beat even faster as he contemplated what that meant. Was Dean reacting to this as much as he had? Was it possible that Dean might want Castiel too?? 

He brought his hands lower, lower, his mind and heart racing at what he was doing, yelling at him to both stop immediately, and for the love of god never ever stop. He went lower still, then panicked, veering left to soap Dean's thigh instead. 

But it was too late, and the back of his hand felt Dean: hard as a rock. 

Castiel gasped. Dean was hard! Dean was hard for him! Castiel wasn't alone in his lust, in his feelings, Dean wasn't immune, Dean was hard!

And Dean was panicking. He pulled himself to the side, turning away, frantically trying to hide his body from Castiel, all but climbing out of the tub. Castiel was frozen for a moment, completely in shock, but as Dean went to bury his face in his hands, Castiel snapped out of it and reached for him. He was doing this. Now. 

Castiel grabbed Dean bodily by the hips and shoved him back into his sitting position in the tub. Castiel saw him open his mouth, maybe wanting to say something, but Castiel couldn't hesitate for even a second, couldn't delay it any longer. Without breaking eye contact, he reached down and took Dean's length into his hand. 

He didn't move it at first; eyes locked on Dean, looking for the reaction that told him this was okay, this would be welcome. Dean's mouth was working furiously, breath coming out in gasps, until one finally sounded like a word. "Cas...."

It was enough. Castiel began to slowly slide his hand up and down, amazed at the smooth feel of Dean beneath him. He had seen countless cocks in his life, more than he could even begin, or would ever care to, count, but nothing was like this. Dean's cock was thicker than his own, and he couldn't imagine anything more perfectly made. 

Dean moaned loudly, leaning his head back, but Castiel felt a surge of aggression, and grabbed the back of Dean's neck, pulling him abck upright. He was going to look the other man in the eyes. He was going to drown in them. 

The motion brought Castiel further into the tub, off his knees into a squatting position now for better leverage, his speed increasing. He could watch Dean's face forever. The twitches, the fluttering eyelids, the biting of lips; and the sounds! The tiny gasps, the louder moans, the heavy breathing as if he had been running...Castiel had been wrong before. Bathing Dean was not heaven....pleasuring Dean was. 

Castiel leaned even closer, his own erection straining in his pants, begging to be touched, but Castiel ignored it. His only care was Dean, his only focus was the orgasm he was determined to pull from him. He needed it, more than he had ever needed anything. He needed to see Dean erupt into peak of his pleasure. His face was barely a hair width away from Dean's now, but he still wasn't close enough. Dean's breath was increasing even more, and Castiel was tempted to taste it, to press his lips against the other man's, but the moan that fell from Dean's mouth stopped him. He couldn't block a single one of Dean's sounds. 

"Oh god, Cas...." Dean moaned even louder now, and Castiel's cock twitched painfully, almost ready to burst completely untouched. Castiel continued to ignore it, but welcomed Dean's invitation to speak. 

"Yes Dean, come one, come for me." Even speaking the words had an effect on Castiel and he at last took his hand off Dean's neck and freed his own cock right as Dean's face screwed up and he cried out. His body shook with the force of his orgasm, his release shooting into the water, and Castiel came mere seconds later, from barely a touch, finishing in the washcloth. He was panting himself as he turned quickly away from Dean, pushing himself back into his trousers. He scrunched the cloth up, hoping what it contained would not be noticeable, and tossed it onto the chair. 

"You should get out, the water won't help you get clean now." Castiel managed to say, proud of how normal his voice sounded considering he was pretty sure every molecule in his body was shaking. He dried his hands on the only towel, then handed it to Dean who used it to cover himself as he rose from the tub. He was staring at Castiel, and Castiel slowly, nervously, raised his eyes to meet Dean's.

Blue and green sank into each other and time seemed to stop. Castiel had never had such an experience, and he was only guessing here, but it seemed like Dean hadn't either. It was amazing. It was everything. It was love. 

Castiel realised it at that very moment, staring into Dean's eyes, in the haze that follows a mind blowing orgasm. Castiel was in love with this man. He wanted him with him forever. He would be. Castiel felt the swell of feeling once more rising in his chest. They WOULD stay together. He would make it happen. 

The clock tolled then, snapping Castiel out of his fog. Dinner! Zachariah! He had been too distracted! His old anxieties returning, Castiel leaped to his feet, eager to avoid punishment. 

"Oh, I will be late to my uncle!" he said distractedly, leaping to his feet and grabbing his shoes. He checked his reflection quickly in the glass of the window, making sure everything was where it should be, then he ran for the door.

He couldn't go through it however; like running into a wall, Castiel stopped in his tracks. He turned and saw Dean exactly where he had left him, towel around his waist, water dripping from his hair onto his shoulder and down his chest. Castiel suppressed a shudder as arousal threatened to flood his body once more. He had to say something, but what? What could possibly express what he was feeling right now? He racked his brain before he caught sight of the clock again. There was no time, it would have to wait. He would tell him later. 

"Get dressed I guess?" He said lamely, hoping he sounded more sure than he felt. "And wait for me here. Please. When Benny comes to clean this up, tell him I said you could have dinner in my rooms. I want to....I should....."

"Go to your uncle." Dean said, Castiel noting a small waver to his voice. "You know he dislikes being made to wait."

Castiel stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Just please, wait for me here. I will try to leave as soon as possible." 

He turned and rushed down the corridor, tripping over his untied shoes, his heart pounding with adrenaline; both from what had just happened, and wondering what Zachariah would say when he showed up late and untidy. His fear of Zachariah had never truly faded, but tonight he felt buoyed by Dean. He had felt Dean. He had made Dean come. 

And tonight, he would confess his love.


	20. Chapter 20

Zachariah's punishment for the evening was new and unpleasant indeed: ordering Luc to bury Castiel's food in salt and pepper, obscene amounts, making it almost entirely inedible. Castiel forced himself to eat it anyway, shaking off what he could, letting his hatred for Zachariah shine glaringly from his eyes. He was unmasked in a way he had not been since he had first come to Briar, and Zachariah could tell. He was not happy. 

Gabriel merely watched in amusement as Castiel gagged his dinner down, as he was forced to duck to avoid being struck by the heavy brass paperweight Zachariah threw at his head, as Zachariah kept up a litany of threats, ranging from drowning Castiel in ink, to shipping him back to the madhouse in a dress claiming him to be a confused woman. Castiel endured it all, the memory of Dean in the bath giving him strength. Castiel could do it. He had seen Dean in the throes of pleasure, and he would be with him again soon. 

There was no reading, but Zachariah made Castiel stay in the library anyway, working to "make up for what you missed this afternoon in your laziness!" Castiel cut pages from a new book, dreaming each slice was through Zachariah's throat. 

The clock had not yet tolled 9 when Gabriel excused himself to the privy, opened the door, and surprised all those within the library when he discovered Dean lurking outside. 

"Dean-o! Come to fetch your master? I'm afraid he is not quite finished here yet."

Castiel's head jerked up at the sound and he rose, striding purposefully toward the middle of the room where he could see the entrance.

"Dean?" 

Zachariah huffed, his bad mood still oppressively filling the space around him. "Don't stand with the door open if a servant is there! Ye gads, Mr. Rickster, I thought you had a thorough understanding of the rules of this house!"

Castiel ignored him, staring intently at Dean. He had come for him. He was thinking about him too. Oh god, Castiel needed to be with him! Immediately! "Uncle, it is Mr. Smith, come to collect me. May I leave?" 

"No. We are not finished."

Castiel was still staring at Dean, who was staring back, a faint pink tinge in his cheeks. Castiel's heart swelled, and he felt even braver than before. He had never, not once in his entire 11 years trapped in this library, requested to leave before he was dismissed. Such rebellion had never even occurred to him. But if he didn't feel Dean in his arms in the next 5 minutes, he would surely explode. 

"Uncle, please. I feel a headache coming on, and I will be of no use to you if I do not rest it away."

"A headache? What are you, a woman growing faint? You will be fine."

That was enough. Gone was the subdued Castiel who would bend to Zachariah's every whim. He was in love. He was going to take Dean and tell him the truth, tell him he loved him and would never betray him the way Gabriel wanted him to. They would take his plot, and make it theirs. They would leave here together and Castiel would personally take joy in watching this library of filth burn. 

He turned to face his uncle directly. "Uncle, I was only asking in an attempt to appease you. Let me rephrase. I have a headache, and I am leaving. It is almost 9pm anyway, and we have done quite enough work for tonight. I wish you good night, and will see you in the morning as usual." 

He gave no chance for Zachariah to respond, but rather dropped the heavy volume he was holding (that he had quite forgotten was even in his hands) on his desk, and marched out of the door, completely ignoring Gabriel who was still standing there taking in the whole scene with interest. He pulled the library door closed behind him, grabbed Dean's arm, and all but dragged him up the stairs toward his rooms. 

Castiel's plan of ravaging Dean immediately upon entering the room was delayed somewhat by the presence of Hannah, who had come in to light the evening fires. He tapped his toe impatiently, mentally urging her to finish, to hurry up and get out of his way. She seemed to go slower than he believed was possible, fumbling her coal, dropping her kindling. Was she nervous by his watching her? She knew that she was never to be alone with Castiel, but Dean was here anyway. Dean. Castiel's skin burned with the closeness of him. Dean had come for him...both sexually in the tub, and physically coming to the library. Surely he wanted this too. He would respond in kind. Castiel was refusing to let any doubt cloud him right now. 

The second Hannah was (finally!) gone, Castiel made his move. Turning to Dean, he saw only a flash of those green eyes watching him, before he moved swiftly, backing Dean flush against the door. At long last, after months of wanting, of aching, of dreaming....Castiel grabbed the sides of Dean's face and pressed their lips together. 

It was heaven. It was bliss. The sun was exploding around him, his stomach was erupting in joyous back flips. The kiss was everything he had dreamed it would be, what he had never known a kiss could be. Neither man knew what they were doing, but it didn't matter: their rhythm came together naturally, lips sliding together, arms gripping the other. Castiel pushed his tongue against Dean's lips, and the other man opened his mouth instantly, letting the kiss deepen. 

Dean moaned, eliciting the same sound from Castiel, as he ran his fingers through Dean's short hair. He wanted to see it mussed, he wanted to see the crack in Dean's perfect veneer. He gave a slight tug, and Dean moaned again, a sound that shot straight to Castiel's groin. Castiel pulled away with a gasp, then brought his lips to Dean's jaw instead, pulling his hair once more to give himself more access. Dean's hands clenched tightly on Castiel's hips, biting into the skin, and Castiel hissed in pleasure. He wanted to FEEL Dean, he wanted to still feel this tomorrow. He kissed down Dean's jaw, his neck, to his collarbone, and it wasn't enough. He brought his hands down and back up Dean's back, over his shoulders, brought them to his chest, but it still wasn't enough. He could feel Dean's heart racing under Castiel fingertips, and Castiel's erection throbbed. He was so in love with this man. 

Dean pulled Castiel tighter, bringing their bodies flush and their groins in contact for the first time; Dean was as hard as Castiel. They both hissed, and Castiel pulled his head back, resting it on Dean's forehead as he tried to catch his breath. 

"Cas...." Dean all but moaned, and Castiel's erection throbbed again. 

"Bed. Please Dean..." Castiel's voice was about an octave lower, gravelly and rough sounding, and Dean licked his lips, nodding. It was happening. It was going to happen. Dean wanted it. Castiel grabbed his hand and pulled him bodily through the doorway to the bedroom, then pushed him onto his back onto the bed. 

Castiel crawled over him, torn between wanting to savour every moment of this, and wanting Dean NOW, no more waiting. He both wanted this to last as long as possible, and wanted it to happen immediately. He brought their lips together again, the passion he felt there doing nothing to help him decide which would be better, but it did help chase any and all thoughts from his mind, as their tongues met again. Dean had his hands in Castiel's hair, and Castiel moaned, loving every moment. He ran his hands down Dean's chest and stomach, before reaching the hem of his shirt. 

"Arms up, Dean" Castiel whispered playfully, enjoying the twinkle in Dean's eye as Dean recognised what Castiel had said only hours before. Castiel had had no idea when he first said those words to Dean, that he would get to do so again with him now. 

Dean kissed Castiel once more, then raised his arms dutifully, and Castiel grabbed Dean's shirt and undershirt, pulling them off together, revealing for the second time that day Dean's mouthwatering chest. He couldn't take the time to admire it however; he was done looking, it was time to touch. Castiel pulled his own shirts off, in one swift move, then lay back down on top of Dean, pressing their skin together in a way that felt almost luxurious. They slid together, Dean starting to take more control, grabbing Castiel in a kiss again, then sliding his hands over Castiel's back. 

Castiel gasped and moaned as Dean found spots that Castiel hadn't even imagined could elicit such a reaction from himself. It was as if Dean could magically sense what would send Castiel over the edge. His hands roamed everywhere, smoothing over Castiel's back, up and down his arms, down his sides and up his chest. He rubbed Castiel's nipples softly, then pushed gently on his stomach. Castiel was struggling to catch his breath as he tried to focus only on kissing Dean as much as possible. 

That is, until Dean's hands reached still lower and cupped Castiel's hardness through his trousers. Castiel cried out softly and pulled his face away from Dean's looking him deep in the eyes that were almost entirely black now, all green pushed away by arousal. He reached down and grabbed at Dean's pants as well, fumbling to get them off. Dean followed a moment later with Castiel's, and within seconds, they were both fully naked at last. 

Castiel did stop then, letting his eyes take their fill the way they hadn't quite been able to earlier. Dean's hard cock stood straight out from his body, and a tiny bead of precum was visible on the tip. It was stunning. 

He brought their bodies back together, tasting Dean's desire on the tip of his tongue. "God, Dean you are beautiful" he managed to say against Dean's lips, his hands now taking up where Dean's had left off, exploring every inch of the other man's body.

"Fuck, Cas...." Dean hissed, and Castiel felt him thrusting suddenly underneath him, his hips coming up against Castiel's, seeking friction, seeking more. 

"I thought that's what we were doing," Castiel chuckled, grinding his own hips down and biting back a moan as their lengths slid against each other, slightly lubed from their precum, but not nearly enough. Castiel was about to reach for the hidden bottle of oil he kept in his bedside table, ready to get them slick, when Dean took the initiative, reaching down to take them both in his hand, stroking.

"Yes, please..." He moaned, and Castiel gasped at the contact, seeing stars. It was too much, and he felt the heat pool in his stomach. No, it was too fast!

"Wait, god wait Dean!" Castiel moaned, pulling Dean's hand off. "Not like that, not yet." He couldn't come yet, he couldn't finish already. 

Not wanting Dean to think he was putting an end to things however, Castiel snuck a look down at Dean's cock, still leaking precum, and he made a split decision. The knowledge of a thousand volumes of pornography in his head, Castiel shimmied down the bed, kissing every bit of skin he could on his way, and took Dean in his hand. Then, looking up at him directly as he had read about, he stuck out his tongue and licked. 

The reaction he got from Dean made everything worthwhile. Dean gasped and yelled, his head falling back onto the pillows, his hands clenching the sheets. Castiel was amazed and emboldened, and he licked more, swirling the tip, down the shaft, gathering more saliva in his mouth to make the whole thing wetter, then relaxed his throat as he had read about and took Dean as deep as he could into his mouth. 

The sounds coming out of Dean were almost enough to push Castiel over the edge, and he gripped the base of his own cock, trying to stave off his orgasm. He wanted to be inside Dean when he finished. He wanted to get inside Dean as soon as he could, but he needed to hear these sounds for a bit longer. He needed to keep giving Dean pleasure. 

When Dean was twitching beneath him, when his hips were thrusting up into Castiel mouth with more and more eagerness, Castiel felt the time had come, he finally pulled himself off. Dean looked up in shock, but Castiel just pressed a kiss to his hip, then reached for the oil at last. When he met Dean's eyes however, Dean looked confused by the bottle, and Castiel suddenly remembered: Dean had no idea what was about to happen. 

To be fair, Castiel had never done this either. However, he had read about it so much that it was like following a set of instructions....and his feelings for Dean made the whole thing seem easy and simple. He knew the theory and he was ready to put it into action, with the man he loved. For Dean however: how much did he even know was possible between two men? Was he ready to find out?

"Oil." Castiel said softly, in what he hoped was a comforting tone. "We will need it."

Dean nodded, and Castiel kissed him gently again. He poured some oil into his hands, carefully making sure his fingers were coated thoroughly. Dean looked a bit nervous, and Castiel's heart swelled. He had to make this good for him, had to keep him safe as well as pleasured. He could do it. 

"Do you trust me?" Castiel whispered, bringing his hand down between Dean's legs.

Dean nodded. "Yes," he whispered back against Castiel's lips, and Castiel began to circle Dean's hole, making sure the oil was coating there as well. 

Castiel smiled at Dean's nervousness, loving him even more, and kissed him gently. "Relax. I've got you." He could do this. He would make this good for Dean. 

Gently, slowly, he pushed his first finger in, up to the first knuckle. He could feel Dean tensing around him, and Castiel reached his free hand up to caress Dean's face. 

"Relax. Breathe. It will be fine." he said softly, and starting moving the finger gently, in and out. Dean took a deep breath, and Castiel felt the muscles start to ease. He smiled, and pushed it in further, slowly sheathing the entire finger. Dean tightened again briefly, but relaxed quickly. Castiel smiled again, then pushed a second finger in to join the first. Dean cried out and Castiel lowered his mouth to his, stealing the sound with a kiss. He moved his fingers slowly, and felt the muscles relax still more. Dean was starting to get soft though, Castiel noticed. He had to find the spot inside, the spot so many books mentioned, where a man could truly know the joy of another.

He crooked his fingers experimentally, moving them a bit, crooking again, then suddenly Dean let out a strangled scream, his hands clenching the bedding again, his cock jumping to attention. 

Castiel chuckled. "Found it." 

He began moving his fingers more earnestly, taking great care to brush the spot inside Dean with each thrust. Dean was unravelling before Castiel's eyes, sweating, gasping, moaning, biting his lip. Castiel's urgent need had gone down a bit as he prepped Dean, but he could feel it starting to rise again. He pushed a third finger in, much less carefully than before, and Dean didn't respond besides to push back, starting to move in time to Castiel's ministrations. He was ready.

Castiel withdrew his fingers and grabbed for the oil again, coating himself instead of his fingers. He saw Dean looking at him, eyes and mouth both wide, and Castiel's heart pounded. It was perfect.

"Turn over," Castiel whispered, and Dean quickly obeyed. Castiel watched him get up on his knees and took a moment to appreciate the view before sliding in behind him. Dean was at the perfect height for this, as if they were meant to be joined this way. Castiel shivered once with anticipation, then lined himself up with Dean's hole and pressed himself in.

He moved slowly, biting his lip to keep himself in control. He couldn't go too fast, had to let Dean adjust, but it was so difficult. He had been waiting so long. Finally sheathed fully, he all but folded himself over Dean's back, breathing heavily. He could feel Dean gasping beneath him. 

"Oh god, Dean....you feel...." Castiel couldn't complete his sentence. Dean was shaking underneath him, then he pushed back, causing Castiel to gasp out loud. 

"Cas....Cas....fuck Cas, you have to move or something, I'm going to die here." Dean growled and Castiel groaned. He pulled himself out a bit, then slamming back in as hard as he could. 

Dean cried loudly, and Castiel did it again, and again, his momentum gaining, and all thoughts disappeared from his head. He knew nothing but the feeling of Dean's heat surrounding him, Dean's gasps and moans and cries, the way his hips were snapping backwards in time to Castiel's thrusting forwards. He moved faster, harder, completely lost in the moment.

"Dean, Dean, Dean" Castiel didn't know when he started crying out Dean's name, but knew it felt sacred on his lips. Dean was moaning in response, and it was all Castiel could hear.

"Cas, yes, fuck yes, Cas please."

He said yes, he wanted him, he was loving this. Castiel's body was on fire, he was going to explode, and it would be ....he couldn't even finish the concept in his mind. "Dean, fuck! Dean!" 

Dean's body jerked suddenly and he came with a howl; Castiel felt his whole body stiffen, tighten around him, and Castiel saw stars. He couldn't keep up his pace anymore, his hips stuttering, and at last he erupted into bliss, shooting deep inside Dean, feeling the muscles clenching around him again, crying out Dean's name once more.

The collapsed together onto the mattress, Castiel sliding himself out of Dean and pressing his face into Dean's back. They lay there, Castiel still on top of him, catching their breath. The room had fallen into darkness, the fireplace almost burned fully out, but Castiel could make out Dean's spendings on the bedspread beside them. He was amazed by it. So many times he had seen the result of men's orgasms, and it had always disgusted him as men shot themselves in his direction, to the sound of his voice, to the sight of his body. Dean's spendings though...this was not disgusting, this was something else all together. This was the physical sign of Dean's joy. Dean had feel pleasure from Castiel, and Castiel had wanted to give it; that was the difference and this was the result. 

Even with that idea however, he didn't necessarily want it there forever. Dean shivered a bit as their bodies cooled down, and Castiel reached for the wash cloth that hung beside the basin on the table. He gently cleaned Dean, taking great care of his tenderness, then wiped away as much of the evidence from the mattress and bedspread as he could, before picking up the blankets and allowing Dean to crawl under, quickly following him. 

He lay in Dean's arms, resting his head on his chest, just as they did while sleeping. He couldn't even begin to think about sleep now however, as his whole body was tingling. He felt alive. Dean squeezed him tightly and Castiel fought down a grin, snuggling in closer, as close as he could get. The fire popped a couple more times, before finally dying out, plunging the room into darkness. Castiel's eyes adjusted quickly however, the moon filling the room with a cool blue light. He ran his fingers across Dean's chest, admiring the freckles that decorated the skin there. 

He was in love. Thoroughly, entirely, irrevocably. He loved Dean with everything he had. If he could choose any day to live in forever, to repeat forever, it would be this one; it didn't matter that he hadn't eaten properly since lunch, that his uncle was furious with him. It didn't matter that he had only had this day because it was almost the end of Gabriel's plan, it didn't matter that in the morning, they would have to go back to being servant and master. All that mattered was in this moment, Castiel Novak loved Dean.....

Dean Smith? No, that was fake. Castiel's good mood suddenly chilled. All these thoughts of love, and Castiel didn't even know Dean's real name. They had just shared something amazing together, but Dean didn't even know Castiel's true situation. They were still living together in lies. 

"Dean?" Castiel whispered, almost hoping Dean was asleep, that he wouldn't hear him.

"Hmm?" Dean murmured into Castiel's hair, and Castiel swallowed. They could take this plot and make it theirs. They could be together. He just had to say something.

"Mr. Rickster has asked me to leave here with him."

Castiel felt Dean swallow. "Leave here?"

"He has offered to smuggle me away and secure me a wife, in exchange for a cut of my money. I will be very rich once I marry, you know." Castiel's heart was pounding again and he continued staring toward the window, not looking up at Dean. Say something, please, he pleaded silently with Dean. Say anything.

"That..." Was Dean hesitating?? "That is a very generous offer." 

Here it goes. 

"Do you think I should do it?" Castiel forced himself to move, resting his chin on Dean now so they could look at each other in the dark, so he could see the other man's eyes, his face. Castiel's heart was still pounding, and he continued to plead with Dean in his head. Say something, say anything, tell me you know, tell me you feel the same thing that I feel. We can take this plan and make it ours, we can free ourselves from Gabriel, tell me you love me the same way I love you, tell me.....

Castiel bit his lip, realising his thoughts had come out of his mouth. "Tell me....tell me what you think I should do."

Whatever Dean says now, Castiel will know. Whatever he says will be the answer. Castiel held his breath, but still Dean did not reply. The tension was too much for Castiel.

"Dean. Tell me what you think I should do." Castiel whispered yet again, reaching up to touch Dean's face. Tell me to stay. Tell me you have an idea. Tell me you want to stay with me. Tell me you love me, because I love you more than I can bear.

"You should go with him, sir."

Everything froze.

Time stopped.

Castiel's heart stopped still in his chest, and for a moment he thought he had died. Dean's words had killed him. 

He withdrew his hand from Dean's face, and looked away, hoping that Dean could not see the anguish he felt, the tears threatening to burst from his eyes. 

Dean didn't love him. 

Dean still was looking for his payday. 

Had he used Castiel, just as all those old men had? But taken it one step farther, used Castiel's body? Did he have any feelings for him at all? 

Castiel should make him leave. He should send him away, back to his own bed. Dean didn't love him. Dean wanted Castiel to go with Gabriel, even though it would mean sending Castiel to jail. 

Dean squeezed Castiel closer, and Castiel bit back a sob, pressing his face into Dean's chest. He couldn't send him away, not now. They had only two days left. Dean didn't love him, but Castiel still loved Dean with every fibre of himself. Maybe he was weak, maybe he was selfish. But Dean told him to go...Dean told him to go. So Castiel would stay selfish for these two more days. 

Dean told him to go, so Castiel would make him stay. Until he couldn't keep him any longer, he would make him stay. 

Castiel drifted into an uneasy sleep, hoping Dean couldn't feel the tears dripping softly from Castiel's eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

Castiel was dragged unwillingly from his sleep as the clock tolled outside his room. He had never in his life felt so defeated, so buried with his emotions. He wanted nothing more than to pull the covers back over his head and stay in bed all day. He remembered doing that once as a child, when Naomi was still in charge of his care. She had forced him roughly from the bed, stripped him naked, and whipped the backs of his legs with a curtain rod. He had cried, which only made her hit him harder, then she had insisted he put the rod back up over the window himself. He had been too short to do so, and it took him most of the day to try and figure out how to do it. Benny had finally taken pity on him and hung it for him. 

Naomi no longer had power over Castiel's daily movements, but the memory was strong enough that it forced him to rise. Dean groaned softly in his sleep, sending a shiver down Castiel's spine as he remembered the last time he had heard such a noise from Dean's lips. He shook the new memory off too. Dean didn't love him.   
Castiel could barely even focus on Dean that morning, his mind in a fog. Dean dressed him as usual, shaved him, sat with him for breakfast, but Castiel's mind was somewhere else entirely. Dean didn't love him. Dean wanted him to go to jail. Now Castiel had to send him there instead. 

He didn't have to, of course. He was aware as Dean rang for Benny to clear away the breakfast tray, as he escorted Castiel to the library in silence; he was aware that he could still tell Gabriel no. Dean did not deserve jail, even if he didn't love Castiel. Castiel could still refuse to commit him, could refuse to leave tomorrow with Gabriel, just let Dean go. Dean could go back to his life, Gabriel would be gone, and Castiel....Castiel had survived this long. Zachariah was ageing. Eventually he would die and Castiel would have freedom that way. 

But as he looked around the library, ignoring Zachariah's angry remarks about Castiel's rudeness the night before, Castiel thought about what such a choice would mean. He would be sacrificing everything for Dean. Sacrificing his very life, any chance he had at living his own way. Sacrificing it for someone who would never do the same in reverse. 

It was horrible. It was heart breaking. It was a choice that Castiel would never forgive himself for. But there was no other one to be made. He loved Dean, but if Dean would not choose him, he had to choose himself. He had to live his life. 

Zachariah attempted all morning to bait Castiel, throwing things, insults, and threats his way, but Castiel ignored them all. Tomorrow he would leave this place. Zachariah had no more power over him. 

Except one. 

"Luc, please send messages to the following Men of Letters. I wish to entertain them tonight."

Castiel finally looked up, the words breaking through his shield.

"All of them, sir? I count almost 20 names."

"That's right. I wish to make an event of it. Inform the kitchen when you have finished contacting them, let them know to prepare dinner for that number."

"As you wish, sir." Luc headed for the door, passing right by Castiel. He slowed as he approached, grinning cruelly at him. "Well, I guess you'll have your hands full tonight! Hands, and mouth, and ass...." 

Castiel clenched his pen, almost breaking it, and Luc laughed as he continued on his way. Zachariah of course paid no mind. Castiel put the pen down, wiping his hands on his trousers in an attempt to stop them from shaking. 20 men...that would be his uncle's biggest night. 

"What is the occasion, Mr. Angeles?" Gabriel asked lightheartedly from the side table. A pile of completed pictures stood on the floor beside him, with only one or two still remaining. His work was coming to an end. 

"Why, tomorrow is your final night with us, Mr. Rickster! Surely you wouldn't think I could send you off without a proper farewell? Tonight shall be a reading, and tomorrow night a festive dinner!"

Castiel grit his teeth. Zachariah grinned at Castiel. "Castiel, don't you agree that Mr. Rickster should have some grand final evenings?"

"Oh, don't make any trouble on behalf of me!" Gabriel said quickly, catching Castiel's look. "I'm here merely as a temporary employee."

"Nonsense, you're our guest and you deserve the best." Zachariah waved his hand, dismissing the conversation. "Now Castiel, could you read to me from that last passage in 'The Mysterious Case of Sister Agnes'? The author uses some adjectives that are quite unique here, and I wish to make note of them."

 

Dean came to collect Castiel at 1, and Zachariah let him go; likely because he knew that Castiel would be punished much worse that evening then anything Zachariah could come up with in the library. The thought did little to comfort him. 

Lunch was as subdued as breakfast had been, the men only speaking when necessary. Castiel looked cautiously at Dean a few times, but Dean was not making eye contact. Was he embarrassed by the memories of what had happened last night? Or just uncomfortable because he too felt the end of their time together drawing ever closer? 

As they walked the grounds, Castiel swore he saw Dean look his way more than once, when he thought Castiel wouldn't notice. He was somehow even more handsome now than he had been before, if such a thing were even possible. Castiel knew now what Dean felt like, what he tasted like, and nothing could ever take that knowledge from him. Knowing someone in that way...this aftermath, this was something Zachariah's books could never convey. The closeness, the connection...Dean was little more than a stranger in many ways, but at the same time, he was closer than Castiel's own flesh. 

Lost in these thoughts, Castiel barely noticed when he reached out for Dean's arm. They walked arm in arm most days when they strolled thr grounds, it was a natural instinct, and Castiel only became aware of it when Dean pulled away from his grip. 

The rejection shot right to Castiel's already bruised heart, and he bit his lip looking away, feeling the sting of tears threatening. He blinked, careful to keep them under control. Naomi had always punished him severely for crying, and today he was almost grateful for it. That self control might help him save face now. 

They headed back inside after only a couple hours, and Castiel halfheartedly suggested a game of cards. Dean agreed, but didn't speak otherwise. His attention was entirely focused on the cards in his hand. Castiel could see the two of hearts there, with it's crease keeping the two hearts even more separate than they were already. He remembered the day Dean had read his fortune on those cards. They had eaten pie for lunch and Dean had been so happy. Castiel had won at cards for the first time, and he remembered laughing so hard at the indignation on Dean's face. Gabriel hadn't come yet. They had been happy. 

The hour of dinner drew steadily nearer, and Castiel shivered despite the mild temperatures of the afternoon. He knew that if he had been downstairs, he would be hearing the arrival of Zachariah's guests. Benny would be showing them in to the largest sitting room, parallel the library, where Castiel gave his readings. They would be making polite small talk, sharing the events of their daily lives, no hint of what would be coming later crossing their lips. Luc would offer them tea and cakes, Gabriel would sit with them and discuss the warming weather perhaps, or the deliciousness of the strawberry preserves. Hannah would be waiting just outside, ready to rush in and help if summoned, but careful to stay away until summoned. Every servant knew that, besides Benny escorting them into the house, Luc was the only person who waited on Zachariah's guests. 

Though Castiel had never once joined the gatherings before dinner, he could see them playing out perfectly in his mind's eye. They were simply socialising at this time, waiting for the main event: him. The thought raised bile in his throat, and he glanced over at Dean once again. This would be the last time he had to endure it. Tomorrow Dean would buy his freedom. He tried to ignore the twinge in his chest as he thought that, the sinking of his stomach. This is what had to happen. 

The clock tolled, and Dean brought Castiel to the dining room. All eyes were on Castiel as he entered, at least 15 sets. Most of the men Zachariah had invited had been able to make it apparently, despite the short notice. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Even in his depression of the day, Dean's presence had still kept the blood sounds away, but now with him gone and Zachariah's friends looking at him like he was the main course, it was back as strong as ever.

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Castiel sat with as much dignity as he could muster. He ate robotically, ignoring the men, speaking only when spoken to. He was sitting at the end, only Gabriel beside him, which helped slightly. At least Gabriel ignored him. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

The guests finished eating and returned to the sitting room, eager for Castiel reading to begin. Zachariah handed him a book: "The Nighttime Adventures of Elias". Castiel groaned internally. This book contained mostly passages about men and women, but there were a small number of men and men pairings as well. He remembered the immunity he had once possessed for this material, before Dean had awoken him to the true meaning. There would be 17 men including Gabriel and Zachariah watching him read tonight. He must be stoic. He must not let the words hold meaning. 

The dripping of the blood and the ticking of the clock seemed to melt together as the evening passed. Tick, drip. Tick, drip. Castiel read clearly, flawlessly. Breath grew louder from his audience as they shifted in their seats. Tick, drip. Tick, drip. A few men pulled themselves free of their trousers, stroking slowly, their eyes intent on Castiel's face. Tick, drip. Tick, drip. 

He came to the end of a chapter and was readying himself for the next when Zachariah interrupted. "Castiel, I believe our guests would like more to look at. Please remove your shirt." 

Castiel gripped the edge of the podium where the book rested. He had expected this, but it still was not any easier. He shot a glare at Zachariah, who merely smirked in response, and waved his hand in a "go ahead" motion. Castiel took a deep breath, then ignoring the inhalations and eager murmuring of the audience, unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off and laying it on the chair behind him. 

"Your undershirt too, if you would." Zachariah's voice was barely hiding his glee as he ordered Castiel humiliate himself. He had never stood fully bare chested before during one of these evenings, but gritting his teeth yet again, he removed his undershirt. 

One man catcalled, and the rest laughed appreciatively. Castiel closed his eyes, focusing on the image of Dean's face for strength, all but forgetting the difficulties of the day. He needed Dean now. Tick, drip. Tick, drip. Tick, drip. 

Castiel continued reading, not taking in a single word, not focusing on a single sound. Some men approached him, licking their lips as they studied him closer. Some men finished, shooting near him before returning to their seats; others were in no such rush, letting the anticipation grow. One man grew bold, stroking Castiel's arm with a single finger. Despite his long standing rule of not touching Castiel, Zachariah did not stop the man. Tonight was Castiel's punishment. He deserved this treatment. 

Other men followed the first's example, once they realised that Zachariah would not step in. Some ran their fingers through Castiel's hair, but most just contented themselves to slide their hands up and down his arms, back, chest, and sides. His stomach was clenched painfully as he remembered Dean's hands there, how much more those hands had meant than the wide array of fingers on him now. He was screaming inside as the hands dipped lower, but maintained his composure, cracking only when someone grabbed at his groin. 

"Now now, careful not to make the lad misread! We are here to enjoy his voice, first and foremost." Zachariah said lazily. 

The hands stayed above his hips from then on, but did not retreat. They pinched and squeezed, stroked and caressed, and Castiel ignored them all, seeing nothing but the words on the page, hearing nothing but the blood clock. Tick, drip. 

He had actually lost track of time when Zachariah finally dismissed him. Castiel wasn't sure if he had ever lost track of the time before, between the madhouse bells of his childhood and the incessant tolling of the clocks here. But that is how thoroughly he had mentally shut himself down for the evening.

Castiel grabbed his shirts and left the room without bothering to put them on until he was in the hallway, determined to not spend another second in that place. He was sure that he buttoned haphazardly as he walked, and hoped that Dean wouldn't notice. 

He didn't. After greeting him upon his return, Dean didn't speak again. He undressed him as usual, and Castiel tried to only focus on Dean, tried forcing the memories of the evening as far from his mind as possible. This was the last time. This had been the last night. 

Castiel crawled into bed, automatically reaching for Dean to join him, and it was a harsh strike of reality when Dean hesitated. 

"It is a warm night, Sir. Surely you would sleep better alone?"

Castiel dropped his hand and rolled over before Dean could see him break. 

He lay there, eyes wide, long after he heard Dean leave the room. The darkness seemed to swim around him, swelling and fading like the tide, the night time candle floating in the middle of it all. His bed had never felt so large, so empty. Castiel had never felt so rejected.

Was he rejected though? Castiel watched the candle flicker. Last night, Dean hadn't rejected him. Dean had responded to Castiel's advanced, had reciprocated Castiel's actions. He had called Castiel's name as he came. Surely, if he had been just using Castiel as a warm body, he wouldn't have used his name? Did that logic even make sense? Castiel didn't know. All he knew was that this was one of their last nights in the manor, one of his last nights close to Dean, and he couldn't spend it without him. 

Castiel climbed out of bed and crept slowly toward the door to Dean's room, listening carefully to see if he could hear anything from within. Not a sound came through. Dean must be sleeping. Castiel slowly pulled the door open, wincing at any sound, not wanting to wake Dean up in fear, though he hadn't yet thought of what he could do to alert the sleeping man of his presence without startling him. Would he even be welcome? 

Castiel couldn't see a thing, he had passed the range of his candle's light. Still he continued forward however, certain that Dean's room wasn't large, that he would find him soon. No sooner than the thought had crossed his mind, did Castiel bump into the bed, and lose his balance, falling down almost on top of a firm body. Dean. 

Dean sat up, gasping in shock, and Castiel reached out for where he suspected Dean's mouth was. He found it right away luckily, and covered it quickly, hoping no one had been outside to hear him. 

"Dean...it's me, it's just me, don't scream." Castiel hissed quietly.

"Cas??" Dean pulled his mouth away from Castiel's hand, but unwilling to lose the image of where Dean was, Castiel simply moved his hands to cup Dean's cheeks.

"Dean...." Castiel leaned forward, feeling Dean's breath as he drew closer. He couldn't see a thing, but that ghost of breath across his lips warmed him to his very core. Castiel hesitated, scared of being rejected yet again, but couldn't seem to stop himself; he gently, tenderly pressed his lips against Dean's.

Dean's arms shot out suddenly, grabbing Castiel around the back and yanking him roughly down, the two men falling bodily onto the mattress. Castiel's spirit soared as Dean not only returned, but deepened the kiss, entwining his tongue with Castiel's, clutching desperately at the back of his nightshirt. Castiel moaned and returned the favour, running his hands down Dean's chest, thrusting slightly against him as he felt his blood rushing southward. He pressed into Dean, who wasted no time, yanking Castiel's clothes out of the way just enough that he could get his hands on him. 

Castiel moaned into Dean's mouth, before fumbling down to take Dean in his hands as well. All thoughts of what had happened during the day disappeared, as Dean eagerly pulled and tugged Castiel, as he moaned his pleasure at Castiel's own ministrations toward him. Their kiss never broke, and they breathed together, moving together, their blood racing and hearts pounding in time. 

"God I need you, I needed you all day..." Castiel moaned into Dean's mouth, pulling apart by millimetres only. 

"You too...need you always," Dean replied, his free hand grabbing at Castiel's neck, holding him closer. Castiel shivered in joy at the words. Dean needed him! 

"Fuck Cas, you feel so good..." Dean continued, moaning again, and Castiel groaned, increasing the speed of his hand.

"So good...don't stop, Dean!"

"Never" Dean hissed, his speed increasing as well, sending sparks flying through Castiel. "Fuck, fuck, yes..."

"Yes, Dean, Dean!" Castiel cried out, his vision narrowing, white noise rushing through his ears as a coil of energy burst inside him, erupting into a mind blowing orgasm; his hips shaking as he released himself across Dean's stomach. 

His hand stuttered on Dean, but Dean quickly covered it with his own, continuing the pace under Castiel's still shaking body.

"Cas, Cas, Cas!!!" Dean cried out, and he finished moments later. 

Dean pulled his and Castiel's hands away from between them, and Castiel collapsed onto Dean, aware but utterly indifferent to the sticky result of both his and Dean's exertions that were being mixed together between their bodies. Dean wrapped his arms around him, and Castiel hoped he couldn't feel just how hard Castiel was shaking. 

He was trying to catch his breath, trying to regain control of his feelings when Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Castiel's head. "Hey Cas, are you ok?"

Castiel closed his eyes, wondering if he had ever been less ok. "Come back to my bed, Dean. Please. Don't make me sleep alone."

He felt Dean's chest rise as he inhaled, and Castiel did the opposite, holding his breath until he finally heard Dean's response. 

"Yes," Dean whispered. 

Castiel sighed in relief. Dean had said yes. Dean hadn't rejected him again. 

The two men stood, and removed their soiled night shirts that had luckily collected all of their releases. They tossed them in the direction of the laundry before Castiel took Dean's hand and led him back through the doorway, toward the flickering light in the distance that marked where Castiel's bed lay.

Now wearing only their shorts, Castiel and Dean climbed into the larger, more comfortable bed, Dean lying on his back and Castiel curled up against him, resting his head on Dean's chest, just as they had done so many nights before.

Wanting nothing more than to let their last night end on this note, this post orgasmic relaxation, Castiel still could not turn off his brain. He knew he couldn't ask Dean for the truth, he knew Dean would lie about tomorrow, he was still planning on turning Castiel in, on betraying him. But Dean had feelings for him, Castiel was certain. The feelings were there, and he longed to hear them, just once, in whatever way he could. 

"Dean...you will come with me, won't you?" This was a safe way to ask. Dean thought that Castiel thought they were going to the city together.

"What do you mean?" Castiel felt his hair dance as Dean whispered down into it. He shivered at the sensation. 

"When I go with Mr. Rickster. When I am married. You will stay with me, right? Be my manservant, no matter where I go?"

Dean didn't answer right away, and Castiel squeezed his eyes closed, wondering if he could take it back, until Dean finally said, "When you are married, you must share a bed with your wife." 

That wasn't a real answer. Castiel sighed. "It will be a marriage of convenience, she will know that. I only wish to share my bed with you."

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to Dean's chest and trying again. "Tell me you will stay with me." 

Lie to me. Tell me you will stay, just this once. Make me believe you want to. Make me believe you love me as I love you. 

Dean pulled Castiel closer and whispered the words that Castiel would remember until his dying day. 

"As long as I am able." 

 

They rose the next morning with none of the awkwardness of the morning before. As if by some unspoken agreement, the two men had decided to just embrace their time left together. Castiel, with great difficulty and trepidation, whispered the departure plan for the following day to Dean, with instructions on how and what to pack. He then went off to the library, where Zachariah seemed to have felt that Castiel had been punished enough, and he all but ignored him in favour of admiring Gabriel's completed works. Castiel catalogued the newly mounted pieces all morning, then spent the afternoon handing them for display according to Zachariah's instructions. This took until dinner time, keeping Castiel from Dean's side until late in the evening. He read one last time to the Men of Letters, but by Gabriel's request for his final night, Castiel read women only passages. He didn't believe it was Gabriel's way of showing kindness toward him, but he was grateful anyway. 

Dean didn't even attempt to leave Castiel that night, going so far as to crawl into bed first, dressed in nothing but shorts. Castiel followed, also bare chested, craving the feeling of their skin together. He kissed Dean's lips chastely, and Dean returned the tender affection, but did not press for more. Neither did Castiel, though he wanted to. His mind was too full of tomorrow's plan to act, however. 

The next day came and Castiel barely noticed. He walked as if in a trance, unable to believe that the time he had left with Dean could now be measured in hours. Castiel worked in the library for the last time, and hardly thought about it. He joined the household in bidding farewell to Gabriel, but tuned out the entire exchange; 10 minutes later, he couldn't have described the scene. It meant nothing. 

Dinner came and went, Castiel eating with Zachariah, but not so much as looking at him. He returned to his rooms immediately after, and stood with Dean by the window, watching the sun set.

"Only a few hours now." Castiel said softly, breaking the silence of the day. Dean took his hand, entwining their fingers, and Castiel felt a pang of melancholy. He squeezed Dean's hand in return.

"Only a few more hours." Dean agreed. 

"You took care of everything," Castiel looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye, wishing it wasn't true. "I dare say, I would not be doing this tonight if it weren't for you."

Dean blushed and looked away, making Castiel's heart sink even more. "It was my job, sir."

"Dean?" Castiel sighed, deciding all at once to move on from this topic.

"Yes?"

"Please call me Cas. Just this one evening, forget what you are meant to do. Please. I want to be 'Cas' to you." Dean was the first person, the only person, ever, who had cared enough to give him a nickname. It wasn't incredibly unique, it wasn't rare or unusual, but no one had ever felt for Castiel enough to warrant giving him one. That was only Dean. 

Dean reached out and wrapped his arms around Castiel's waist, pulling him close. Castiel breathed deeply, inhaling the scent, the essence of Dean himself, closing his eyes as Dean rested their foreheads together.

"You always will be 'Cas' to me." he said, his words barely louder than a breath. 

Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean's neck and the two stayed that way. As the sun set filling the air around them with fiery light, as the stars twinkled into sight, as the sounds of the manor settling for the night filled their ears, Castiel and Dean stayed locked in their embrace. Castiel wanted to kiss Dean, feel his lips one last time, but he didn't dare move. He couldn't interrupt this moment. 

Hannah knocked, forcing the two men to separate. It was time to light the fire. Castiel watched her for a moment, before remembering that he was not meant to stay in the room with her. Squeezing Dean's hand out of Hannah's sight, he excused himself to visit the privy. 

That wasn't where he headed however. 

Zachariah slept early. The entire house did of course, but on nights where Castiel did not read, Zachariah often went to bed immediately after dinner. Castiel knew this, as he wandered the darkened hallways, in the direction of Zachariah's rooms. 

He had never been inside them before, but he knew where they were located. He couldn't quite explain why he headed there now, except that he knew he would never see his uncle again after tonight. This was it, this was the final chance. 

He eased the door open and crept inside, careful not to make a sound. Zachariah's famous low tolerance for loud noises, combined with Luc's hovering presence just one room away, made Castiel walk as silent as a ghost. This was a ridiculous risk, he had no real reason to do it. But he slipped inside anyway, through the sitting room, through the second door, until he stood over Zachariah's bed. 

The old man slept on, by some miracle remaining unaware of Castiel. Castiel peered down at him, not sure what he was feeling. Hatred of course, that was the standard. He always hated Zachariah. But something else was bubbling under the surface as well, something confusing. Was it sadness? Regret? Regret that Zachariah would never know how much he had damaged Castiel, that he would never understand what he had done wrong. Had he even seen Castiel as a human being, as fully alive as Zachariah himself? Or had he just been yet another tool in his life? Would he even notice Castiel's absence, except in it's inconvenience?

Castiel was 21 years old. He had spent more than half his life under this man's thumb, and yet this man cared nothing for him. They were family. Castiel's mother had been Zachariah's sister, yet Zachariah never spoke of her either. Nothing mattered in his life except his books. 

His books.....

Struck with an idea, Castiel was immediately enraptured by it. That was how he could get his revenge. That was how he could ensure that Zachariah felt every bit of the pain, the agony that Castiel had endured under him. He knew what he had to do. 

Spying the straight razor on Zachariah's table, Castiel grinned and took it up, looking once more at Zachariah. He could end it all right now, slit the man's throat while he slept....but no. Then he would never feel Castiel's retribution. 

Gripping the razor tightly, Castiel crept back out of the rooms and headed for the library one final time. 

Slice. Slice. Slice. 

The air filled with pages, as Castiel ripped and slashed indiscriminately, throwing books as hard as he could, tearing apart pages, slicing through the heavy leather bindings. The library was huge, but Castiel left no part untouched, making sure to cause some damage to every volume, every mounted piece of art that he himself had hung only yesterday. The files of paper that he had catalogued in his own hand, those he tore apart with his bare hands, relishing the burn in his muscles, the paper cuts in his fingers. He threw the pieces in the air and stood under them with his arms spread wide, as if in a heavy snowfall. 

Castiel opened a drawer next and pulled out bottles of ink. These he threw with all his might into the stacks of crumpled books, of ripped papers. The bottles smashed, ink flying and splattering through the air, before settling to spread across all in it's path. Spreading as blood had, all those years ago, with no end in sight. The ink blacked out the images, the words, the prints; it hid them all, neutralising the poisonous contents. Castiel's heart was racing as he watched Zachariah's entire life works, Castiel's entire life's works, disappear just like that. 

His final act was to push over the empty bookshelves, which fell like dominoes against the far wall, making an awful sound, but Castiel hardly cared. The library was the most soundproofed room in the house, and no one was close enough to hear it. He stood by the door and surveyed his mess, feeling a satisfaction such as he had never know. He dropped the razor on the brass line by the door, then turned and walked out of the library forever. 

Castiel rushed back to Dean, who grabbed at him, looking frantic. He cut the other man off before he could say anything.

"I've just been to my Uncle's library....had to see it one last time, but couldn't risk being caught. Took me awhile." He wrapped his arms around Dean, who returned the hug immediately, before whispering.

"It's time to go." 

"I know." Castiel replied. He leaned back and pressed his lips softly, chastely, against Dean's, knowing full well that this would be the final time. He wished he could tell Dean how much he loved him, and how sorry he was. But it was no longer an option. It was too late to turn back. He spoke calmly instead.

"Lead the way." 

Dean did, holding tight to Castiel's hand the whole time. They snaked through the black corridors, quiet as a pair of mice, stopping only long enough for Dean to pick the lock to the back door exiting the kitchen. Castiel didn't ask about Dean's knowledge in this area, but nodded to himself when he saw it. There it was at last, after all these months: finally proof of Dean's true identity as a thief. 

Gabriel was waiting as promised at the end of the drive, astride a chestnut horse and holding the reins to a spotted grey. Castiel helped Dean clamber up before climbing on in front of him, letting Dean wrap his arms around his waist before clicking his tongue and heading off into the night. 

Castiel expected to feel more as they reached the inn in town, but he felt as if his very soul was blank. It was his first time leaving the manor since he had arrived there, but the thought brought him no emotion. He felt as though he had left his capability for emotions back at Briar, back where he and Dean would forever live in his memory. 

He helped Dean off the horse, then helped Gabriel stable them before following the other two to bed for the night. He lay beside Gabriel, but didn't sleep. He couldn't sleep beside anyone but Dean, and they had only a few hours here anyway. Gabriel insisted they move to the train station at first light. 

Castiel sat beside the window, watching the scenery fly by, feeling every kilometre, every second, that was taking Dean away from him. He felt Dean beside him as well, and tried to cling to that feeling. The city was approaching. If Gabriel had not been in the train car with them, Castiel would have clung to Dean's hand, but instead he didn't even look at him, focusing only out the window. The train pulled into the station in what felt like no time. 

It was finished. 

The other passengers began to disembark, but Gabriel didn't move to let them off. Dean was looking around curiously, and Castiel could hear him speaking as if from a long way off, but he couldn't make out the words. Dean must be starting to realise, starting to suspect. He spoke again, and Castiel closed his eyes, reaching at last for Dean's hand. He squeezed it tight, then let go as the sound of stomping boots filled his ears, and two large policemen entered the carriage. 

"Mr. Novak?" One with a thick set of sideburns and a heavy accent began. "Thank you for contacting us. Is this the criminal?"

Castiel of course had contacted no one, but Gabriel had done so in his name, and it was he who answered. "It is. He came to my master in disguise as a manservant, claiming my identity. Of course, when the real me showed up, the plot unravelled and we discovered his true intention: hiding in my master's manor! Hiding from the police! Can you believe such a thing?"

Castiel was staring out the window, trying to focus on anything except what was happening just behind him, but the words were forcing their way through the fog, forcing themselves into his brain. He heard Dean's nervousness, his fear he asked, "Gabriel, what are you..."

"Gabriel Rickster? Yes, you are under arrest. Please come with us, and kindly do not make a scene, there are women and children outside." The police reached for Dean, pulling him up as he protested, his voice shaking with shock and confusion.

"What?? No, I'm not....What? Gabriel! Gabriel, what are you...No! No, I'm not Gabriel! He is! Cas, Cas tell them, you know I'm not..." At the sound of his nickname, Castiel's heart shattered into a million pieces. He clenched his fists so tight, he swore the skin of his palms was breaking, blood was pooling. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Gabriel kicked Castiel, getting his attention, and Castiel summoned the very last of his courage, turning to face the police offers. 

This was the moment. 

Dean would finally know. 

"Take him away, he is embarrassing us." Castiel's was shocked at how steady his voice sounded, how firm. 

He sounded like Zachariah. 

Dean's mouth dropped open, and Castiel looked away again, unable to witness the scene for a moment longer. He had seen the pain shoot through Dean's eyes, and he would never forget it. 

Dean was dragged heavily away by the police, but he no longer spoke, no longer begged Gabriel or Castiel for help. 

He knew. 

"Come on," Gabriel muttered once the sound of the police had faded. "We have to get off the train here too."

Castiel reached into his pocket, and touched the one souvenir he had taken from the manor, the one he hadn't told Dean he was taking. The only personal item he desired. 

The two of hearts. 

Castiel had betrayed Dean, but that didn't mean he had stopped loving him. He would never stop loving him. 

He stood stiffly, picking up his bags, the bags that Dean had so carefully packed for him the day before, and followed Gabriel into his new life.


	22. Chapter 22: Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, Part Three, starts here! From here until the end, the chapter POVs will alternate between Castiel and Dean

Gabriel seemed in a good mood, considering he had just turned over to the police someone he claimed to have known for years. He pointed out different sights around the train station as they walked, tipping the man who helped them with their luggage, chatting amicably with the carriage driver he hired to bring them to their next destination. 

As they climbed through the door to the carriage, Gabriel went to clap Castiel on the shoulder, but Castiel pulled away before he could make contact, glaring at him. 

"Do not touch me. If you touch me, I shall kill you."

Gabriel pulled his hand back, his eyes flashing. "Oh, very nice. I just handed you your freedom on a silver platter, but sure, threaten me with violence."

Castiel turned without another word and climbed in, settling himself against the far wall and staring out the window, much as he had done on the train. Gabriel huffed and climbed in after him. 

"May I speak at least, your highness?"

Castiel rolled his eyes and did not answer. Gabriel seemed to take that as a yes.

"We are heading to a house in the inner city. It is a good place to lie low in case your uncle sends out men to look for you. Once we are there, I will send for my cousin, she is completely ready to go, simply waiting to hear from me that it is time to come meet you. It should not take more than a week, after which time you shall marry and you and I shall be free of each other's company at last."

Castiel continued to ignore him, studying the city through the window. He had never seen it before, and in his imaginings, it had looked nothing like this. In his mind, he saw the city as complete, walls rising from the Earth marking a clear boundary. He did not see the suburbs, the sprawling, broken neighbourhoods that he now passed through. He had imagined it clear and crisp, with seedier streets for sure, but well hidden by grandeur. But now he saw broken homes set beside sweeping, well kept shops, he saw words and writing everywhere advertising and proclaiming. 

Dean could not read. What had he seen in these streets? Castiel put his hands over his face, and heard Gabriel scoff.

"Come now, Castiel. This is what you wanted! You are in the city, you have gained your freedom. Soon you will forget the manner in which it came to you, trust me. Anyways, Dean was..."

"Do not say his name." Castiel growled. He swore he could hear Gabriel roll his eyes.

"Fine. I'm done trying to appease you. Be miserable for all I care. My job with you is almost finished anyway."

They completed the rest of the ride in silence. 

 

The carriage stopped, and Gabriel paid the driver, then gestured to Castiel. "Come on. From here we must walk."

They were not at the front steps of a house, as Castiel had assumed they would be, but rather at the entrance to a small alley. It was growing dark, as the journey had taken most of the day, but it was not the gathering dusk that Castiel was used to. The air here was heavy, the fog hanging low over the rooftops was a brownish colour, like dirty wool on a sheep. Through the filthy mist, Castiel could just make out a smudgy street sign: Lant Street. 

Castiel swallowed and, with trepidation, followed Gabriel down the street. The alley was winding, but clearly well travelled. Men in doorways gave them no mind, though women occasionally peeked out of windows to watch them pass. Castiel wrinkled his nose at the smell of sewage, once of twice stepping gingerly around puddles of sick, trying not to hear the sounds of drunkards from behind the walls. Where the hell had he ended up?

Gabriel pushed open a door to the left, a door so perfectly painted to match the walls around it that Castiel would not have noticed it were there if Gabriel had not made the move. A small black sign over the door read "Lant Street Locksmith" and had a carving of a large key underneath. The people in this area must be less literate than those by the train station, Castiel figured. He thought again of Dean, his stomach twinging, then followed Gabriel inside. 

They stand inside a tight room, which has every appearance of being a locksmith shop, at least as far as Castiel can presume. He read a bit about locksmiths in his books, but only in small passing. He supposed that the tools behind the counter must be for key cutting, the items on display in the cabinets to be accessories. Gabriel huffed a bit as he looked around, then rang the bell on the counter.

"Why are we here?" Castiel spoke at last, initiating conversation for the first time since losing Dean. 

Gabriel looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Don't let appearances fool you, this is the place for you to be just now. I told you in the cab, we will stay here."

"In a shop?" Castiel looked around again, then startled to hear footsteps approaching. 

A young man entered the room, younger than Castiel would have expected to be in a shop like this. He had light eyes, long, slightly unkempt light hair, and if he was even old enough to grow a full beard, Castiel would be shocked. He shot a glance at Gabriel, but Gabriel was clearly expecting him. 

"Sam! It's been too long, my precious. I am thrilled to see you are still being provided for."

The boy...Sam...narrowed his eyes. "Where's my brother?"

Gabriel just smiled, shaking his head. "Don't worry your pretty little head on that now, I must see your adoptive parents." He put his hand on Castiel's shoulder, and Castiel let him, to utterly bewildered to protest. He couldn't remember the last time he was so confused. 

Sam moved in front of the door, stopping them. "I said, where is my brother?"

"Dean's not your brother," Gabriel sighed, and Castiel whirled around on him. 

"Dean?!" The piece of the puzzle slid into place at last, and Castiel gaped. 

This was Dean's house. This was Dean's den of thieves. 

A memory came flooding back to Castiel, a night in bed so long ago, his head resting on Dean's chest, a whispered conversation. 

"I have a brother." Dean had said. 

"You do? I was under the impression that you were the only son of Mr. Rickster's old nanny." 

Castiel had peered up at him, seen Dean's eyes widen as he realised his mistake in mentioning it, then soften as he thought of an excuse.

"Er...yes. I guess he is not my real brother. But we grew up together, he is only a few years younger than me. We are...were...very close."

"Oh. Were?"

"I guess we still are. But it's hard, when I'm out here. I miss him. I hope he is being treated well." Dean had spoken softly, hopefully, and Castiel leaned onto his chest. 

"I would like to meet your brother someday." 

"I would like that too." Dean had whispered. 

This was him. This was the brother. 

Gabriel wasn't looking at Castiel, but continued glaring at Sam. "I am here to see Mary, by her own request. Surely you don't expect to stop me."

Sam's jaw tightened as he glared at Gabriel a few seconds longer, then jerkily moved to the side. Gabriel turned Castiel around, and steered him through the door. 

They walked down a corridor and past a rickety flight of stairs, then entered a blazing hot kitchen. Castiel gasped a bit, blinking rapidly at the sudden onslaught of light and heat. There was a large fire burning in the hearth, a pot of something bubbling over it, like a scene from a witch's lair. The stove beside it was lit as well, smells and sounds of meat sizzling filling Castiel's senses. He wanted to run, but he had not eaten since this morning. 

On the table, a large brazier was lit as well, and beside it sat an older couple, staring at him and Gabriel in utter shock. 

"Gabriel....you did it." The woman spoke after a minute, raising her hands to her face. 

"Mary, John, allow me to introduce, Mr. Castiel Novak." Gabriel removed his hand at last from Castiel's shoulder, and took a seat by the fire, removing his hat and coat and looking utterly comfortable. 

Castiel stood still as a stone, staring around him, not knowing where to let his eyes rest. He heard Sam shuffle into the room behind him, but he didn't move into view. Why was Castiel here?? What was happening??

The woman, Mary, stood up and moved in front of Castiel, her eyes roaming over his face, altogether too eager. He took a step back nervously, but she just stepped with him, her hands reaching out as if to touch him, but holding back. 

"Castiel....what a name...I would never have chosen it, but it suits you. Your eyes are blue, so blue, just as I thought they would be. Black hair though, that is a surprise, I had imagined something lighter. Such cheekbones too, and that long straight nose! Oh you are more handsome than I dared dream, I am so pleased. Are you tired, Castiel? I know you have made such a long trip..."

"Let the man breathe, Mary!" the older man, John, interrupted her, and Mary smiled and shook her head. 

"You are right, I'm sorry. Come, sit, you have had such a long day!" she took Castiel arm in hers and led him to a chair at the table, between herself and John. Sam sat across from them and scowled. 

"Am I the only one who wants to know where Dean is?" he said sullenly, but no one paid him any attention. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Castiel jerked his head around wildly, looking for the source of the sound. There was nothing. His mother's ghost was back. Gabriel snickered. 

"You'll have to excuse Mr. Novak's.....eccentricities. He was not raised as a proper human being ought to be."

Mary tutted, and reached out to stroke Castiel's cheek. He jerked away, glaring at her, his memory immediately going back to the Men of Letters, the groping hands...

"Gabriel told us some of what happened to you in that house," Mary said softly, taking her hand back. "But no one will ever hurt you again, I promise. We are here for you, will keep our own safe."

Castiel found his voice at last. Slamming his hands on the table, he pushed his chair back and stood, flaring angrily around the room. "How dare you speak to me like this? Who the hell are you anyway? What is the meaning of this? Gabriel! I demand answers!"

Mary jerked back, her hands back over her mouth in surprise, but John merely studied Castiel curiously. 

Gabriel met Castiel's eyes steadily and shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a villain."

Castiel blanched.

"He has a mouth on him, does he?" John said steadily. "That won't do, men with loud mouths are the first to disappear in these parts."

Mary gasped, and grabbed at Castiel's hand. "Hush, John, hush! He is confused and scared, and has every right to be! I'm sorry you feel that Gabriel tricked you dear, he had to you see, there was no other way. Would you have come willingly if you knew the truth? Of course not, you had no reason to believe him! But please, sit down, we can talk. Sam! Get the tea! Castiel needs to rest..."

"I don't need to rest, I need answers!" Castiel bellowed again, yanking his hand out of Mary's grip. "You have 5 minutes to tell me what is going on here, or I swear I will walk right back out that door."

Gabriel snorted, and even Sam chuckled a bit at Castiel's empty threat. A gentleman like him, as well dressed as he was, would not make it far in this neighbourhood and everyone knew it. Still, Mary nodded profusely, and gestured for Castiel to sit down. 

"I will tell you, I will, please just sit and remain calm."

Castiel lowered himself slowly, his eyes still scanning the room for a weapon of some sort just in case. 

Sam went to sit as well, until John reached out and cuffed him. "I thought Mary asked you to fetch the tea? God, boy, why the hell do we even put a roof over your head?"

Sam jumped for the tea, and brought back three mugs, conspicuously forgetting Gabriel, who merely snorted and fetched his own before returning to his seat by the fire. He clearly felt no need to be part of the conversation. 

"Oh dear, I hardly know where to start." Mary said, sipping her tea nervously. "I suppose introductions? Yes, why not. This here is John Winchester, he runs the locksmith shop, see? I am his wife, Mary, though you should know it is more a partnership than a marriage. There, now you know a great family secret, see how you are one of us? The boy here is Sam, a Winchester in name only, at Dean's insistence. We did everything for Dean, see? We raised him right, just the way he ought to be raised, so that he would be ready for this very event."

Raised Dean. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding. These were Dean's parents? But wait...he opened his eyes again. "You raised Dean for prison?" 

"Dean is in prison??" Sam jerked his head up, but yet again the other ignored him. 

"In a sense, dear! We raised him for you, he was always meant for you! He was an investment you see, kept and safeguarded, until he could be exchanged. For you!" 

Castiel gripped his teacup so tightly he heard a snap. The handle had broken off, spilling tea across the table. No one moved to stop the spread, and Castiel stared at it; it spread like an ink stain. Like blood. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

He was vaguely aware of Sam staring as well, listening to his parents in shock. He hadn't known. But Gabriel had. Gabriel was humming to himself by the fire, unconcerned. 

"I think I need to hear from the beginning." Castiel managed, his voice shaking with barely concealed rage. 

Mary nodded, reaching out to loosen Castiel's grip on his broken cup, to take his hand in her own.

"Yes. Let me tell you everything."


	23. Chapter 23: Dean

"Ok, let's start again from the beginning, shall we?" The officer sat across the table, folding his hands and staring at Dean. Dean hated him. 

"I've told you twice already, I don't know what you expect me to say a third time that will convince you!" he shot back, aware that this was the wrong sort of attitude to take with a man who had the power to lock him in a cell, but unable to stop himself. He had spent the last months clamping down tightly on his attitude, on his sarcasm, distracted by a perfect pair of blue eyes that had disguised a snake. 

"Let's just try and see!" the officer said smugly, and Dean sighed. 

"My name is Dean Winchester, of Lant street. I am not the Gabriel Rickster you are searching for, but I am acquainted with him. He hired me to accompany him to Briar Manor, to fill a recently vacant servants post."

"Using the pseudonym 'Smith'" the officer added here, and Dean grit his teeth. 

"Yes," he said, forcing himself to remain calm. "I was not a trained servant, and he worried that my name sounded too posh for the posting, so he convinced me to use a fake name. To help make my appointment more comfortable for the gentlemen of the household."

"You realise how ludicrous that sounds, right?" The officer leaned forward again, a ghost of a smile under his beard. Dean fought back the urge to punch him. 

"Yes, and at the time I objected as well, but Gabriel was most insistent and I didn't much see the point in arguing. Clearly now I can see how I was tricked! He meant to make me look suspicious from the beginning." 

"And why would he do that?"

Dean threw up his hands in frustration. "For the very reason I am here with you now! If I look suspicious, the police will hold me, therefore giving him more time to evade you! He clearly meant to set me up, use me as a pawn for his own ends! I was naive in trusting him, you have to understand, and I confess to that naivety! But I needed work, I have a younger brother to support, and I was assured this was a temporary posting. I found it strange, but I was too eager for the income to question it as much as I ought to have."

"You are awfully well spoken for a servant formerly of Lant street. Don't think we aren't aware of what sorts of people live down there."

Dean opened his mouth to retort angrily, but bit it back, taking a deep breath. He knew what sort of people lived there as well. "As the personal manservant to a scholar, I was encouraged to speak formally."

"Like a gentleman would. Like the members of the Rickster family." The officer smirked and Dean clenched his fists in frustration. He was running out of ways to defend himself; it was all he could manage to keep his story straight about why he had been at Briar without implicating himself or his family in any crimes. He was proud of how fast he had thought up the cover, but was starting to suspect the whole thing was an exercise in futility. The police were determined that he was their criminal, and they were not prepared to take his word for it.

An idea came to him suddenly, and he leaned forward. "Ask them. Summon any member of the Rickster family, ask them to come identify me. They have never seen me before in their lives, Gabriel is the only Rickster I have ever met! They will confirm that I am not he!" 

"Summon a Rickster?" the officer scoffed. "You expect us to summon a prominent family like that, to the police station, on the word of a criminal? The Ricksters have no interest in seeing you ever again, boy! They have disinherited you, thoroughly separated themselves from you and your life of crime. What would be the point in dragging them back into your mess now?"

"To confirm my identity!" Dean slammed the table, standing up. "So that the true criminal, the real Gabriel can be caught and stopped!"

"We do not harass the upper class, Mr. Rickster, unless they are charged with a crime. You, for example, are charged with theft, assault, fraud, and impersonation. Those are serious accusations, and we are serious about pursuing justice."

"If you were truly serious, you would let me go and find Gabriel!" Dean yelled, slamming the table again. "For god's sake, are you not hearing me? I am not Gabriel Rickster! I am Dean Winchester, and I have committed no crime!"

The officer stood up and grabbed Dean, wrenching his arms behind his back. "I think you need to cool down a bit, Mr. Rickster." he emphasised the name, making Dean's blood boil. "I am hereby escorting you to a cell. Perhaps a night locked up with help clear your head and encourage you to cooperate."

Dean struggled in vain as he was dragged out of the room and tossed unceremoniously into a cell. The key turned, locking him in, and he was left with nothing but his own thoughts to distract him from his current predicament. 

He paced the cell for a bit, desperate to keep his thoughts at bay, but they came all the same. Over and over again, playing as if a scene from a play being performed behind his own eyelids, Dean saw them. He saw Gabriel and Castiel on the train, saw them together, united against him. All those months at Briar, all those months he had thought himself clever, had thought himself in the know, when he had been played for a simpleton. All those long hours Castiel and Gabriel spent together in the library, tucked cosily away amongst the books, perhaps speaking in whispers so Mr. Angeles could not hear. They plotted against Dean from the start!

And those nights, the nights he and Castiel had spent together....lying in each other's arms, sleeping together first as brothers but then...

"God you're beautiful"

"Come for me, Dean!"

"Relax. Breathe. I've got you." 

Dean dropped to the floor, throwing his hands over his head but he could not block out Castiel's voice, his deep, gravelly voice as it breathed in Dean's ears, filling the space around him. 

"Come back to my bed Dean, please. Don't make me sleep alone."

"You will stay with me, right? No matter where I go."

"Tell me you will stay with me."

Dean let out a moan and curled in on himself. Castiel had said these words, but meant none of them. He had seduced Dean into falling in love with him....for Dean was so deeply, madly in love with him....then pushed him away like it was nothing. 

Like Dean was nothing. 

Dean reached inside his shirt....underneath his travel shirt, he wore Castiel's riding shirt. He had slipped it from the suitcase this morning, needing to feel something of Castiel's nestled against his skin, needed to feel the memories as he prepared to say goodbye. 

He wanted to rip it from himself now, but couldn't seem to move. 

Instead, Dean screwed up his face, and did something he had not done since childhood, something he had always fought off. 

He wept. 

 

Morning came, but nothing with it. The police seemed content to leave Dean in his cell, and not even food was delivered. He resumed his pacing, his mind still thinking furiously, though he did his best to push Castiel out of it. 

He all but forgot that in tricking him, Castiel had merely turned Dean's own trick around on him. Dean had fully intended to put Castiel in here in his place, but that hardly seemed to matter now. The fact was that Castiel had tricked him. How often had Dean thought Castiel good, Castiel pure, Castiel angelic? How he had twinged with guilt at leaving a single mark on Castiel's flesh, how he had writhed with fear at the thought of what a place like this prison would do to him. Castiel was worse than a snake, for a snake you could look at and see the unpleasantness. Castiel looked perfect. He looked heavenly, he spoke heavenly. He touched heavenly.

Dean pushed the thoughts away again, redoubling his efforts to keep Castiel out of his head. He thought instead to Lant street, to Mary and John. To Sam. How long would they wait for him? Would Gabriel go to them eventually, or cut and run with Castiel's money? With Castiel himself? Dean had thought Castiel loved him, but maybe that was part of the trick, maybe his real love was Gabriel, and the two of them were laughing at Dean's affections behind his back, laughing as Castiel revealed what had happened between them in the dark.

Dean cried out, punching the bars of his cell, breaking the skin on his knuckles. Still no one came, but the sight of the blood on his hand helped to clear his head. He had to think instead of Mary and Sam! He had to get a message to them somehow. They would come set him free, if they knew where he was. Mary may not have been his birth mother, but she had raised him as her own, she loved him truly. Dean was sure of that as he was sure of little else. And Sam, Sam was his brother! They always came for each other, Sam would not rest thinking that Dean was in trouble. The only reason Sam had not come for him yet was because he believed Dean to be tucked safely away at Briar, still working for Gabriel. 

He had to communicate with them somehow, but beyond that, Dean had no ideas. It's not like he could write a letter and pay someone to smuggle it out for him. How would they ever know he was in here?

Dean's stomach ached from hunger as the light outside his window dipped into evening, and someone finally came to his cell. The same officer from yesterday, who's name Dean didn't know, came with a tray of food to push through the bars. He settled on a bench outside the cell and watched as Dean dropped to the food and devoured it. 

"In the city jail," he spoke at last, when Dean finally showed signs of slowing down. "The prisoners are fed three times a day, like clockwork. Oh sure, the food might not be great, but it is always served. Work is provided as well, to keep the inmates busy. Being left alone with one's thoughts can drive a man mad, can't they Mr. Rickster?"

Dean glared up at him. "I am not Mr. Rickster."

The officer shrugged. "I don't much care what you believe. I am here to lay out the facts for you. Mr. Rickster has been accused of four different crimes, the penalty for which is life in jail. You have been accused of being Mr. Rickster. Unless you can provide some proof that you are not he, then we will proceed to the trial for your crimes. If you confess, and agree to serve your time, the judge will go much easier with your sentence, offering perhaps a life in the colonies instead, or the chance to work off your debt to society. If you insist on this denial, if you fight with us, then I can guarantee that you will disappear behind those doors." He gestured down the hall to a set of doors Dean had not noticed before. "They lead to the general prison population. You are being held separate, as you have not been tried yet, but you will go through those doors once convicted and you will never come out again."

Dean gasped, feeling the colour draining from his face. "Officer, please....you have to listen to me..."

"I don't have to listen to anything, I am simply telling you the facts."

"How can I prove that I am who I say I am? You won't let me summon a member of the Rickster family, you won't believe my words, how can I prove my identity to you??" Dean was on the verge of tears again, clutching the bars of his cell.

The officer shrugged. "I will leave you until tomorrow to think on it. When I return, we will see what you have chosen, and then we will proceed as I see fit. Good evening, Mr. Rickster."

He reached through the slates for the tray, then sauntered down the hall, whistling as he went. 

Dean gasped, clutching his stomach and falling to the ground again. 

He had no idea what could be done. 

"You will stay with me, right? I only wish to share my bed with you." 

Damn Castiel. Damn him to hell.


	24. Chapter 24: Castiel

"I guess it all starts with your birth." Mary said, resting her hand on Castiel's arm. She seemed incapable of being near him without touching him. He pulled his arm away. 

"My mother died when I was born." He said, then added with disgust, "In a madhouse." He almost never spoke those words aloud, but he flung them like a weapon now hoping for a reaction. 

John merely nodded however, as Mary reached for Castiel again. "I know that is what they told you...."

"I remember." 

"We all remember where we spent our young days, don't we? But our births....now that is a different matter. You were told you were born to a mad woman, in a madhouse. And so that is where this story must begin, to correct what you think you know."

Castiel stared at her, then laughed incredulously. "You are as mad as my mother was!" He looked over toward the fire. "You really mean to make me listen to this, Gabriel?"

"Oh, hush your tongue and hear the woman, Castiel!" He shot back. His mouth fell open, and Mary shot Gabriel a glare. 

"Come now, Gabriel, there is no need! The poor man is in shock! Castiel, I promise you I am not mad. You said you wanted to hear the story...."

Castiel scoffed. "I have spent my entire life reading stories, ma'am. And thus far, yours fails to captivate me, so let us skip to the main plot points: why am I here, when can I leave, and how does Dean fit into all of this?"

Sam's head jerked up at the mention of Dean, but Castiel noticed he kept his mouth shut.

Mary wrung her hands again, before reaching once more for Castiel's arm. "I am trying dear, please let me speak. Let me tell the whole story from the beginning, and I promise you will get your answers."

Castiel pulled his arm away yet again, then crossed both arms over his chest, staring steadily at Mary. He was running out of patience, and was losing the will to care. The most important thing right now was Dean. Castiel had to free him. 

Mary looked at John, then back at Castiel and sighed. "You were not born in a madhouse, dear. You were born here."

Sam dropped his own teacup then, the sound echoing through the kitchen. Castiel just stared at her. She truly was mad. 

"Your mother was raised in that house, the same as you were. Her much elder brother had become lost in his mania from a young age, and was well enveloped in it by the time their parents died, leaving her in his care. From all accounts, he immediately put her to work, as he did you. She was haunted by the things she read for him, but remained defiant. She rebelled in her own small ways, one of which included a dalliance with a servant.

"When she realised that she was pregnant, she knew that her brother would curse her child the same way he had done her, and she fled. Somehow she heard about the business here....I rid our home of all the babies in preparation for your arrival, but usually I am a baby farmer: that is, I collect unwanted infants and find them new homes, in exchange for a small fee. She came to our door one night in summer, the rain had soaked her right through! She was in labour, I could tell right away, and I brought her here to the kitchen. 

"Her baby was born less than an hour later, a beautiful little boy with the brightest eyes one could ever have imagined! Everyone who saw him was smitten at once! But Miss Angeles only wept at the sight of him, and when I tried to comfort her, she explained what would happen if he were caught, if her brother found them. She knew what fate would await her only son. 

"We tried to help her. Oh yes, we have honour here! We had a boy in those days who was mighty talented with a pen, he helped us forge some paperwork on her behalf for a very reasonable price. She became Mrs. Novak, a widow mother of one. She had nothing to give us, but she promised herself to our debt. And when the rouse failed, when the men from Briar tracked her down, we made her one last deal. 

"We heard the men were coming, you see, before they arrived. One of the benefits of an operation like ours, we have eyes and ears everywhere! We were given fair warning, but Mrs. Novak could hardly flee in her condition, her son only weeks old. But a desperate mother will give anything to save her offspring, and this was no different. She begged me, begged, to exchange her babe for one of my farmed children. She pleaded with me to raise her son here as my own, and she would take another towards it's fate. 

"Now, see how things favour us, see how lucky you are to be one of our people! I had a son myself at the time, not quite 1 year old yet. Mrs. Novak did not know that he was my own, for there were so many babies around then you see. In exchange for taking her son, Mrs. Novak would write out a will, sign any document we drew up, that promised upon her death, her fortune could be split evenly between her birth son, and the boy she was taking now. As that boy's birth mother, I could claim that money myself! I could live as a duchess, my son at my side! 

"But why settle for half of a fortune, when I could have an entire one? Ah, see there was the trick. I gave her my son in exchange for hers, then settled down to wait, and plot. I had years, I knew, years to perfect a plan. I raised Mrs. Novak's son with more love than I knew was in me, for he was my future. I loved him as no mother had ever loved her son! Would I not have given an arm, a leg, my own lungs to get him anything he needed? He was my precious boy! I kept him for this day, the day when I could finally exchange him for my fortunes."

"Dean," Castiel whispered. His entire body was numb, his hands were shaking so much that he sat on them in an attempt to still them. She was talking about Dean. 

This woman had raised Dean like a pig for the slaughter. 

And her own child....

Mary reached her hand out to cup Castiel's cheek, but he pulled away before she could touch him. Hesitatingly, she pulled back, and nodded. "Yes, Dean. Dean was born an Angeles. And you....you are a Winchester. You are my son."

 

Castiel stopped listening. He couldn't comprehend anymore. He stared straight ahead, eyes not seeing, as the truth of the matter washed over him. 

His mother. 

Dean's mother. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

But what was the sound of the blood, if Castiel had not been born in that manner? Why did his mother....his believed mother....why did her ghost torment him so, all his life? He had hated her as long as he could remember. Was that why? Did she begrudge him his anger, when she had taken him in and promised him wealth? 

And Dean...Dean! Dean was in jail, and he did not know of this! All that time at Briar, he had not known that it was HIS home by birthright. Castiel should have been HIS servant! 

 

Arms up, Dean

 

Castiel shivered, and stood suddenly. "I can listen to no more. Take me to bed."

Gabriel snorted. "Still speaking like a gentleman! You think we are here to serve you?"

"Gabriel, hush!" Mary said yet again, and still again hooked her arm through Castiel's. "Yes, of course. We can talk more in the morning. You must be exhausted, and this is so much new information for you! I have a room made ready for your arrival, I have been keeping it special for you. The best linens we could get our hands on, such finery! You will think you were still in a grand manor, come now." 

Castiel followed numbly. He allowed Mary to undress him and put him into his night shirt, allowed her to tuck him into bed and kiss his forehead as if he was a small child, but he drew the line at her crawling into bed with him. 

"I wish to sleep alone."

"Oh, but....you would deny your mother the first chance she has to hold her son since he was a baby?" Mary bit her lip, but Castiel just glared at her and repeated his sentence.

"I wish to sleep alone."

Mary sighed and kissed his forehead again, before turning and leaving the room. 

Castiel lay in the darkness, staring out the window across from his bed. 

What had he done?

He had betrayed Dean, and for what? 

There was only one way to redeem himself. He had to escape here, had to rescue Dean. Dean may never forgive him, but that was alright. Castiel would never forgive himself. It didn't matter. He had to at least get Dean out of jail, had to tell Dean the truth, then be willing to let him go to live his own life with the knowledge. 

It was the only thing he could do. 

 

The story picked up again the next morning, as Mary promised, as Castiel ate bacon and porridge sullenly. Sam was skulking by the fire this time, a new bruise blooming on his cheekbone, the presence of which was unexplained to Castiel. 

"So you see, that is why I had to arrange for Dean's arrest." Mary was saying over her own porridge. "If he was free, he was entitled to half the Angeles's fortune, but as a convict he would be legally barred from it, leaving the entirety to you! You see how I take care of you? I won't have you denied based on the greed of some pervert's son."

Sam coughed, Castiel gripping his cutlery tightly, looked up at him. Sam had not known any of this either....perhaps Castiel could find an ally here, despite everything. 

Gabriel entered the room, bowing genially to Castiel, and kissing Mary on the cheek. "Good morning to all! I hope our tempers have improved since last night?"

Castiel flashed back to Zachariah asking Naomi almost the same thing, and he put his cutlery down, turning at last to address Mary directly. 

"You said yourself that this money is in my name. What on Earth makes you believe is going to stop me from claiming MY money and being free of the lot of you? You can not take it in my name, I am a 21 year old man, not a child in need of a guardian."

"But you can not access any money until you are married, remember? And if you were to marry someone loyal to us....someone who is entitled to share in your wealth, and would not deny us...." John answered now, levelling his steely gaze on Castiel. "You could deny her, of course. But she would be entitled to it all if you were to....disappear. It's really for your own good that you include us in your plans."

Castiel stared evenly back at him. "And if I refuse to marry at all?"

John laughed. "Then you would do what? Oh, you claim to be a man, but you are innocent as a boy in the ways of the world. You have nothing without us! No money, no home, no skills to ensure you earn a living wage. Go ahead and refuse! We have been waiting 20 years for this, boy. We can wait until you discover the truth for yourself: the world doesn't care about you at all, and will give you nothing for yourself. But we will. You take care of us, we take care of you."

Castiel narrowed his eyes and John chortled, returning to his own breakfast. He was right, and Castiel knew it; and hated him for it. As far as the Winchester's could see, they had Castiel good and trapped. 

He looked up again and saw Sam watching him, his head tilted as if deep in thought. Castiel met his eye and mimicked the gesture with a furrowed brow. Sam raised his eyebrows then nodded toward the back door. Castiel followed the movement with his eyes, and nodded imperceptibly. Sam let the ghost of a smile cross his lips, then sipped his tea as they waited for the opportunity. 

Castiel smiled himself. A conversation with Sam was sure to be enlightening. 

Perhaps there was a third option after all.


	25. Chapter 25: Dean

Despite the officer's vow to return the next day, Dean saw no one. When he woke in the morning, there was a tray of food on the floor by his cell door, and no one came to collect it when he called. 

He spent the day alternating between feeling a coil of energy inside him, causing him to pace relentlessly back and forth in the cell; and a dull listlessness that resulted in him staring blankly at the ceiling. It was dotted with black. Mould perhaps? Or simply dampness? He hadn't felt any drops fall on him, but it hadn't rained. If the weather changed, would his whole cell flood? He couldn't swim, though the effort would likely keep him warm, might be a nice change from the chill he felt now.

He thought longingly of Lant street, of the toasty warm kitchen, always aglow with light and heat. Mary tending to babies, John tending to items he planned on selling, Sam shuffling a deck of cards. His home. His family. What would he give to be with them again, just for one evening? Just to let them know he was in here! They would move heaven and Earth to get him out, he knew it, if only they were aware of the situation! Mary had always protected him. She would now. 

He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought. He was a grown man, he didn't need his mommy coming to take care of him! It was his job to take care of others now....as he had done with Cas....  
The thought of Castiel made Dean's restlessness take hold once again, and he would slide from his cot to pace. He couldn't believe he had even considered taking the man to his home, that he had even briefly thought about what it would be like! Castiel at Lant street....they could never accept a man like him! So well bred, so learned, so good...

But he wasn't good. Dean clenched his fists, resisting the urge to punch something like the wall. Did he know Castiel at all?? How long had he been plotting against Dean, how long had it been just a game to him? He had made Dean believe there was something....Dean had let him....no WANTED him to...

He groaned and buried his face in his hands, leaning against the bars of the cell. That was the problem, right there. Dean had been seduced into developing real feelings for this man. He didn't really understand them: was it romantic love? That was what he felt, the word felt right. Love. He was in love with Cas, he had thought it before. But really, all he knew on the subject came from plays in the theatre featuring a man and woman. He heard of "poofs" of course, men who preferred men, as Sam always insisted Gabriel did. But such men were perverts, they only sought to fulfil their lusts, didn't they? What Dean felt was altogether different. Sure, he had lusted after Cas as well, had indulged, but it was so much more than that. These things he was feeling, they were real and powerful. More than perversion, more than lust; or at least, they had been. But Castiel had betrayed him....

Dean sank into listlessness again, sliding to the floor and staring at the wall. 

He was tricked by Gabriel. He was betrayed by Castiel. His friends from Lant street would likely forget him, and he would rot away in this jail, under someone else's identity. Sam would get married and take over the shop from John, his wife take over the baby farm from Mary, as the couple aged together, never having closure on Dean's fate, wondering what had happened to their lost son. 

How could he prove he was not who they thought he was?

On his third day in the cell, Dean was starting to panic. He had never been alone for this long before. He was starving, his one meal a day barely making a dent in his hunger. No one had emptied his pot, and the stench was starting to get to him. He was almost convinced that the black spots on the ceiling were eyes that watched him, and he was about to stand on his bed to get closer and check when Officer mutton chops finally showed up.

"Mr. Rickster! I trust you are comfortable?"

Dean was ready to say he was Gabriel. He was ready to say whatever they wanted him to say, if it would only get him out of this cell. 

"Good afternoon, Officer. Please, feel free to call me Dean." Ok, maybe not really ready to say whatever they wanted. 

The officer scowled at him, then turned the key in the door, sliding it open at last. "Come with me."

Dean jumped to his feet and followed eagerly. He didn't even care where they were going, though a small part of him was pleased that they turned toward the interrogation room instead of the general population jail cells. 

He gestured for Dean to sit down, but then backed out of the room. Dean raised an eyebrow curiously, but his question was answered before he could even ask it, as a large, balding man entered the room next and sat down across from Dean. Officer mutton chops closed the door from the outside. He was apparently not invited today. 

"Hello, sir. My name is Dr. Edlund." He reached out his hand, and Dean took it cautiously. A doctor? 

"I understand that you are a bit confused, so I just came to have a chat."

"A chat..." Dean said slowly, still looking at him. What kind of doctor wanted to chat?

"That's right. Don't worry, I am not a policeman! I was actually called by them because it seems your case is a bit confusing to them as well! They asked me to come clear things up, and so here I am!"

"Okay...." Dean said in the same slow voice, still studying the doctor. There were a few tiny wisps of hair on his head, he noticed now that he was looking more closely. They had been hidden by the shine that was radiating from his forehead. Had anyone ever been more shiny than this man?

"Why don't we start with something simple, eh? How about you tell me your name."

Dean sighed. "Dean Winchester."

"What is Dean Winchester?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "What do you mean, what is Dean Winchester? It's my name, isn't it? It's what you asked, isn't it?"

The doctor raised his eyebrows. "Why yes, I suppose it is. So, your name is Dean Winchester?"

"Right."

"Can you tell me why the police believe your name to be something else? Specifically, Gabriel Rickster?"

"Because that's the bastard what framed me and put me here." Dean could hear some of his old speech habits coming out, the kind he had clamped down on after going to Briar. He guessed it didn't really matter now. Maybe if he sounded like a Lant street type, they'd be more inclined to believe he wasn't a gentleman.

"Can you tell me more about this so called 'framing'?" the doctor folded his hands and rested his chin on them, looking at Dean curiously. Dean rolled his eyes again. 

"Why? You gonna listen to me? The officers didn't."

"I am here to help actually, so yes I will do my utmost to listen to what you say." 

Dean sighed, resigning himself to the story, hoping he could remember what he had said before. "Gabriel Rickster's an old friend of my family. He came to me, a ways back, and says he's got work for me. A rich gentleman, looking for help for a few months. So I says I'll do it, I have a younger brother to support and could use the money. I go out there a few months, then come back here, but when the train arrives, I get taken away by police who tell me I'M Gabriel Rickster and am under arrest. The damn real one is sitting right there, but then he's playing at being the servant and the cops believe him and take me instead. Now I'm here paying for his crimes, and he's out somewhere, laughing."

Laughing with Castiel, laughing at Dean, at his feelings, how easily he'd been seduced and tricked, how compliant he'd been....Dean shuddered, forcing himself back into the moment. 

The doctor continued to peer curiously at Dean, as if waiting for him to continue. Dean shut his mouth however, crossed his arms and glared at him. He wasn't just talking for fun here. 

A few moments passed in silence, before the doctor spoke again. "You claim to have a brother, correct?"

"That's right."

"What is his name?"

Dean blanched. "Why??"

"Well, if we could find him, it would certainly go far in corroborating your story."

"You..." Dean swallowed, a tiny flare of hope appearing inside him. "You would get him here? Tell him I'm here, so he can prove I'm who I am? Who I say?"

"We could certainly try."

"His name is Sam. Sam Winchester." Dean leaned forward, eager for the first time. "He lives at the locksmith shop on Lant street. You can go there and find him, he's always there!"

The doctor made a note of something on the paper in front of him, then showed Dean. "Sam Winchester, right? This is the correct spelling?"

Dean froze. He knew how to pick out his own name, but Sam's? Even "Winchester" was a struggle. He snuck a look at the doctor, then squinted at the paper, trying to make sense of the lines he saw there. They were loopy, much more squiggly than his own. Was that big one a W though? 

"Um..."

"Sir...." the doctor tilted his head, his brows furrowed. "Is this the correct spelling or not?"

"I...." Dean looked around, biting his lip. "I believe so, yes."

The doctor picked up the pen, then still looking at Dean with confusion, scrawled something else underneath and showed him again. 

"Could you read this sentence, please?"

"Um..." Dean reached for the paper, looking up at the doctor again, then back down. Many words were written here now, and he couldn't recognise a single one of them. 

The seconds dragged on as Dean stared. Sweat was starting to form at his brow, and he wiped it away hastily, then bit his lip yet again. Should he just confess that he couldn't read? It wasn't that unusual, no one on Lant street could read! Yet the shame of it burned him all the same, he couldn't just admit out loud that he couldn't. Like he had been ashamed to admit it to Castiel all those months ago, it wasn't something you could just say to learned men. 

Before he could decide one way or the other, the doctor gently tugged the paper back. 

"I see..." he said slowly. He picked up his pen, tapping it on his chin a couple times, before tearing off a new piece and sliding it back towards Dean.

"One last question then. Could you please write Sam's name here on this sheet? Just to make sure there is no confusion?"

Dean took up the pen in his hand. It felt awkward and clunky, and he fumbled a bit trying to determine the best way to grip it. Finally settling on clenching it in his fist, he pressed the tip down and began to draw a line slowly. His tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he focused entirely on what he remembered of letters. He had just seen Sam's name, but what did it look like??

Sam. Only 3 sounds! What letter made the sssss sound again? An E? He couldn't recall. He scratched it in anyway, feeling the paper rip slightly from the pressure of his pen. The aaaaa sound was next, he was pretty sure that was a curvy letter, maybe the circle one. Last was mmmmmm....to make that sound your tightened your lips then pushed out air, so that shape surely was the D....it looked sort of like a mouth.... EoD. Was that right??

The doctor reached over and pulled the pen from his hand, sliding the paper back toward himself as well. 

"Thank you very much, Mr. Winchester. I'll call the officer to take you back to your cell now. And get you some lunch, you look like you have barely eaten in days."

Dean looked up, hardly daring to believe it, but the doctor was already pulling open the door and relaying the message to whoever was on the other side. 

The other officer, the one who had arrested Dean but whom Dean hadn't seen since that day, came to lead Dean back to his cell. He was barely down the hall however, when he overheard the doctor and mutton chops speaking. 

"So, Doctor Edlund, is he mad? This identity delusion of his...."

"For that to be the case, the delusion would had to have completely taken over his fine motor skills, erasing knowledge that has been imprinted since his youth, skills that his muscle memory would retain even if his mind did not."

"What are you saying? The man is clearly under the belief that he is someone he is not!"

"No, Officer, my conclusion is actually the opposite. That man is no high born gentleman; he is entirely illiterate for starters! And he is clearly sane, if under duress due to your treatment of him. Officer, it is my professional opinion that the man in your cell actually is one Dean Winchester, citizen of Lant street."

Dean gasped out loud, wanting to turn back around and run to the doctor, sweeping him in a hug, but the officer's grip on his arm tightened threateningly. He pulled the door of Dean's cell open and tossed him back in, slamming the door behind him. If he had heard the doctor's request to give Dean more food, he was ignoring it, but Dean could hardly be bothered with that now. 

The doctor believed him. The doctor didn't think he was Gabriel. 

The doctor could convince the police to fetch Sam! Sam could confirm his identity. He could get out of there, he could go home!

He could hug Mary again, and shake John's hand, he could feed some babies and play cards with Sam. Dean could tell them the truth about what Gabriel had done, and they would put the word out. He would never be able to show his face on Lant street again! 

And Castiel.....Dean shook his head. Forget Castiel. Dean would. He would just put aside any ideas he'd had about the man, any feelings he's imagined possessing. He'd repress the memory of Cas's lips, his hands, his body....Dean would force himself to forget. 

Life would go back to the way it was, the way it was supposed to be; and Dean would go back to the person he had been before he had ever even heard the name Castiel Novak.


	26. Chapter 26: Castiel

Mary would not let Castiel out of her sight for more than a moment. She followed him from room to room as he wandered with an impotent sort of energy, offering him chairs, drinks, entertainment. She stroked his hair or his arm when he stopped moving, and tried rubbing his shoulders when he sat. She constantly called on Sam to go out to fetch fresh meat, milk, and once even on a quest to find fruit. When he brought potatoes back instead, Castiel watched numbly as Mary screeched at Sam, throwing the potatoes back at his face. 

Castiel was getting the sense that Sam was just as much a captive here as Castiel had been at Briar, but he couldn't figure out why. What did the Winchesters have on him that kept him at Lant street? And, more importantly, how could Castiel use it to gain Sam's alliance? 

He struggled to find the chance to speak to Sam however, in the presence of Mary's unbelievable smothering. By evening on that second night, even John was commenting on it. 

"Mary, the man has been locked away for 11 years, let him have a breath of fresh air now!"

"I just want to make sure he is comfortable." She responded, petting Castiel's arm. He pulled it away. 

He accepted that she was his mother faster than he would have thought. He accepted it logically, that is. It explained why she acted the way she did toward him. He could even see a hint of resemblance, in the shape of her nose, in the crook of her ears. He could even accept it as a motivation for her madness, for her composure of the plot that ultimately brought him here. 

But that didn't mean he cared. 

Castiel had never had a mother, save the nurses in the madhouse, and he'd always hated the ghost of the one he'd thought he had. Now that he knew it was all a lie, his real mother was alive and right here beside him, his main reaction to the knowledge was utter disinterest, with a healthy mix of disdain, disgust, and annoyance mixed in. She may have birthed him, but as far as he was concerned, that was the end of it. She had essentially sold him as an infant, and then raised Dean in his place, as little more than chattel. 

Mary's sale of Castiel crushed any desire in him to have a familial relationship with her. But it was her treatment of Dean that made her detestable in his eyes. 

"Are you my father?" Castiel asked John over breakfast the following day. 

Gabriel choked, and Sam thumped him on the back while Mary and John looked on. Mary fidgeted, a bit embarrassed and opened her mouth to answer. John cut her off, however. 

"No, I am not. As Mary said the first night, ours is a marriage in title only. We are partners and friends, we run our business and take care of each other. But we are not now, nor ever been lovers." John wiped his mouth with his napkin, making an effort to look dignified. The napkin scratched against his two day stubble however, and Castiel shuddered. It would take an army of menservants to make John pass as dignified. 

Mary took Castiel's hand. "Your father was an old acquaintance of mine, long dead now I'm afraid. But I can tell you about him, if you wish to know."

Castiel pulled his hand away. "No, I was merely curious." 

"John's no more a father than you are," Gabriel winked at Castiel, his face split in a grin. "You'd be surprised though at what you can have in common, despite not being bound by blood."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam looked between them, his brow furrowed, but Mary swatted at him. 

"Never you mind. And Gabriel, hold your tongue! Castiel is a gentleman, he doesn't need to hear such things."

Gabriel burst out laughing at that and Castiel sipped his water delicately, looking away. Mary continued to scold Gabriel, but Castiel couldn't be bothered to listen. He understood that Gabriel had been implying that John was a poof, like himself, though Castiel hardly thought himself that way. He had no interest in men, or women for that matter. His only interest was Dean. 

He looked back at the table, and saw Sam watching him. Meeting his gaze, he nodded imperceptibly, then cast a look at the kitchen door. Castiel tightened his lips, then looked at Mary. 

"I wish to use the privy, do excuse me."

"Oh of course dear, let me just fetch my shawl. It's awfully chilly outside today."

Castiel made a show of rolling his eyes. "I am capable of walking the 10 steps to the privy myself! Or do you think I mean to flee the moment I am out of your sight?"

"Castiel, dear, I love you endlessly, but you must understand! I have my son returned to me after twenty long years, I can not bare the thought of you being out of reach again!" Mary touched his arm, and gritting his teeth almost painfully, Castiel patted the back of her hand.

"It is cold outside, as you said yourself, and I will be back inside before you know it. I am not asking to go to market or even leave the yard! I simply wish to use the privy without an audience." Castiel noticed Sam stand up and begin to clean the dishes around the kitchen, gathering the scraps to toss onto the slag heap. That would be his cover. The boy was smart. 

"Let him go, Mary, if he's not back in five minutes, I'll fetch him myself." Gabriel rolled his eyes, taking a swig from the flask he produced as if from thin air. It was 8 in the morning. Castiel shook his head internally. 

Mary finally peeled her hand away and nodded, and Castiel was on his feet almost instantly. He headed for the door, trying hard not to look too eager, and stepped into the chill. 

The brown fog had rolled in again, and Castiel made a point to breathe through his mouth to avoid the stench. He walked toward the wooden shack outside that housed the shared facility, and waited just outside it for Sam to appear.

He showed up less than a minute later, the bucket of scraps in hand. 

"Ok, I know what I want to talk to you so badly about, but not what you want, and as far as I'm concerned my inquiry is more important. So I'm going to start." Sam glared at Castiel, who was somewhat taken aback. 

"Alright," he said slowly. Sam puffed up his cheeks and exhaled, glancing back at the house to make sure they were still alone, then looked back at Castiel.

"What happened, and why is my brother in jail?

Castiel pressed his lips together. His first instinct was to lie, to blame it all on Gabriel, but he thought better of it. He wanted Sam's trust. 

"We tricked him, Gabriel and I. It was Gabriel's idea, but I went along with it. He is in jail under Gabriel's name, for Gabriel's crimes."

Sam snorted, spinning around away from Castiel. He took a step toward the house, then stopped, dropping the bucket and spinning back to face him. 

"You know, Gabriel was a weasley little dick, but this is not him. He's not smart enough for this, you realise that right? Gabriel was a pawn used by my mother, that's what she was trying to explain to you. This whole thing was her idea."

"Yes, obviously. I was merely pointing out what happened to your brother from my perspective, as you know as much as I what happened since." Castiel took a step towards him. "Sam, you should know I...I never wanted this to happen to Dean. I agreed before I knew him, and once I did....things changed. I changed. I tried so many different ways to call it off and nothing seemed possible. Then Gabriel essentially blackmailed me, and I could see no way out of it."

"You traded my brother's life for your own. I don't care what you wanted to happen, that's what did. Fuck you, Castiel. You know, it's because of Dean that I even have a NAME? I was abandoned and Dean begged Mary and John to take me in. He begged them until they let me take their last name. They never cared a bit about me, and so Dean raised me all by himself, despite being only 4 years older. He taught me everything, made sure I was fed and clothed, made sure I learned how to take care of myself." Sam ran his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily. Castiel felt his heart breaking yet again. For Dean to care so much about this boy...he was an even better man than Castiel had thought. He wondered how many more times his heart could break before it just stopped working altogether.

"Sam, I'm not trying to defend my actions. What I did was terrible. But you know, Dean came in to my house looking to cheat me himself, right? He was ready to put me in jail, just as I put him in." Castiel reached for Sam, but Sam pulled away. 

"I know that! But I don't care. Dean was doing it because he thought he was going to make money, money he could use to take care of me."

"And I did it to gain my freedom! Does the motivation behind the act matter so much, or is it the act itself? But Sam, please listen, we don't have much time before Mary comes looking for me and we could discuss the philosophy behind our deeds all day. I have to ask you something first."

"Ask me? You have the nerve to ask a favour of me after what you did to Dean?" Sam laughed incredulously. 

"It's to get Dean out! Please believe me, the only thing I want right now is to fix what I did to Dean, to get him out of jail. But I can not do it alone, I need your help. We have to save him."

Sam laughed again, and picked up his bucket. "I repeat: fuck you, Castiel. You want to drag me into yet another scheme, just like Dean? I'm not a simpleton. I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you. You put Dean in jail, give me one good reason why you want to get him out now, especially now that you know you'd have to share your fortune with him. So? One good reason?"

Castiel bit his lip and looked away. What could he say? Confess his feelings for Dean? He would gladly give Dean every penny he had, if it meant that Dean were free and forgave him. The fortune meant nothing. But if he told Sam the truth....Castiel remembered Gabriel's threatening words. 

 

"do you know what Dean's sort of people do to men like you? The city folks would gossip and laugh, but that would be like music to your ears after you saw what Dean's people do."

 

How would Sam react if he knew that Castiel was in love with his brother? How would he react to Dean? Sam hadn't even understood about John, that had obviously been kept from him for a reason. He clearly loved his brother, but if he knew what had happened between Dean and Castiel....

Sam snorted at Castiel's silence. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Sorry, your highness! Don't expect my help any time soon. And I can figure out a way to help my brother without any help from you either."

Sam grabbed his bucket and marched to the slag heap, tossing the contents unceremoniously before heading inside. Castiel heard John yell at him for taking too long, and Castiel's heart sank. Sam had been his only idea as a way to help Dean. 

Now what?

Castiel headed back inside and was barely in the door before Mary had thrown herself at him. 

"Oh my dear, you were gone so long! Upset stomach? Sam! Make him some tea! I find tea always helps me, see? Come, sit down."

"Yes, we better check on that stomach." Gabriel was looking at Castiel with a raised eyebrow. Sam's coinciding absence hadn't been overlooked by him at least. Castiel merely stared back at him, while allowing Mary to settle him into the chair. 

Sam placed a cup of tea in front of Castiel without a word, and Castiel took it. Mary hovered over him, and so he drank it just to appease her. Slowly the conversation resumed where it had been before, though Castiel was not listening. He could not care less about these people's lives. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Mary continued to hover over him all day until Castiel was nearly mad with her presence. This smothering was an entirely new experience to him, who had known mostly neglect his whole life. He had no idea of how to rid himself of her however, as he had no idea how to help Dean. Castiel had been helpless his entire life, and it was finally getting to the point of exasperation. If he didn't do something soon, he would explode. 

"Let's get you to bed early now!" Mary announced after dinner. "We want you to look your best for Becky tomorrow?"

"For whom?" Castiel froze halfway out of his seat, looking at her. It was Gabriel who answered, however. 

"Dear Becky, your bride!" He snickered. "She arrives at dawn."

"You'll adore her, don't worry." Mary fussed, straightening Castiel's already perfect waistcoat. "She is well mannered and utterly loyal, she was once one of my own babies you know! Many of the families I sell to hide their connection with me, but Becky's family was so grateful to me they send me a card once a year! She will make an excellent wife for you."

"So what, I am to meet and marry this woman tomorrow?"

"Oh don't be silly! Once Becky is here, we will begin making the arrangements for a wedding, you won't be expected to hop to the chapel tomorrow, see! And we really must make sure to inform the bank of your intent to wed, to make sure there will be no problems."

Castiel allowed himself to be led from the room, hoping that his horror did not show on his face. 

"What role do you see me in, exactly, once I am married and you have absconded with my money?" Castiel levelled a look at Mary as she helped him ready himself for bed. 

Mary gasped, dropping his recently removed shirt on the floor so her hands were free to grab his own. "Absconded?! Castiel, no! Please don't think we mean to cheat you! We will live together, see, you, Becky, John, and myself! We shall buy one of those big manor homes, the kind in the nice part of the city, where we can all four live comfortably. You are the only one who knows what it's like to be of the upper class, and we shall all rely on you to show us what to do, see? You can teach John to be a gentleman, Becky and I to be ladies! We shall make investments, yes that is what the wealthy do is it not? And take up the most lively of recreations! You will teach us!"

"And what is it you presume I know of upper class life in the city? I know only men like my uncle."

Mary waved away his protest. "You are a gentleman, if not by birth than by merit! You will adjust to city life, and we alongside you."

"And I must ask again...if I refuse to go along with this?"

Mary shook her head. "Oh my precious son, have you not stepped away from that kind of thinking? I am your mother! You would not leave me in the cold! We will be so happy together, see!"

Castiel shook his head and crawled into bed. "I wish to sleep alone." 

Mary kissed his cheek and stroked his hair. "I know, you are still adjusting. But today was better than yesterday, and yesterday better than the day before. Sleep now. Tomorrow will be even better."

But it was not. 

Becky arrived over breakfast and Castiel hated her immediately. Her blonde hair reminded him vaguely of Dean's, though it was several shades lighter; her energy however, that was all her own. She chattered away with Mary about the wedding plans and ideas for their new lives together, while all but ignoring Castiel. Sam looked at her with a curled lip, as if imagining unpleasant things happening to her. Castiel didn't blame him, and once again felt the twinge of kinship with the younger Winchester, despite the fact that he wanted nothing to do with Castiel. 

Castiel however, was renewing hope that something could be arranged with Sam. It had not escaped his notice that Sam's name had been absent last night in Mary's verbal depictions of life after Castiel's marriage. She had no intention of bringing him with them. Maybe Castiel could use that knowledge. 

The day wore on and Castiel grew more and more infuriated with Becky's presence. He found himself thinking almost longingly of life at Lant street before she arrived, but he caught himself every time these thoughts entered his head. He should be thinking of nothing but stopping this plan, freeing Dean, and escaping. 

"Have fun marrying that." Castiel looked up in shock at the words. Sam was standing over him, a deck of cards in his hands. "Do you play?"

Castiel was immediately suspicious, but eager for another chance to connect with Dean's brother. "Yes. Shall we go to the table by the fire?"

Mary's head shot up as soon as Castiel stood, but once he settled himself where she could still see him, she resumed her conversation with Becky. John was in the shop and Gabriel was no where to be seen, for a change. He let Sam deal the cards for one of the games Castiel had played with Dean, and once he had them fanned in front of his face, he spoke in a murmur to the younger Winchester. 

"I thought you wanted nothing to do with me?"

"I don't. But I want even less to do with that woman, her voice is driving me mad." Sam spoke just as quietly, rearranging the cards in his hand. 

Castiel nodded. "I can't marry her. I'd end up murdering her."

Sam chuckled, and Castiel felt a leap of hope. They were speaking!

"Too bad you have no choice. My mother will never let you back out." Sam whispered, playing a card. Castiel looked over at her, saw her watching them, and looked back at Sam. 

"There's always a choice," he replied, using his cards to hide his mouth. "I told you that yesterday. If you and I work together and free Dean..." 

Sam drew a card, looking over at Mary as well, then back at Castiel. "Just because I'm sitting with you does not mean I magically started to trust you. Becky is awful, but that's still no real reason to want Dean freed, you'd still be splitting your fortune with him."

"Better split two ways between him and me, than four ways in your mother's scheme." Castiel replied, playing a card. "But I don't care about the money right now anyway. I will worry about that later. Right now, all I want is the same thing you want: to release Dean from prison and escape this hovel."

Sam lowered his cards in surprise, and forgot to keep his voice down. "What do-"

Castiel kicked him beneath the table, hissing and looking at Mary. She was watching them again. He smiled and nodded at her before turning back to Sam, hiding his face behind cards once again. "Stay soft, will you??"

Sam's face was red as he focused on his cards, playing two before finally speaking again. "What do you mean, escape from this hovel? This is my home."

"Mary and John want Dean in jail, you want him out. You mean for me to believe that you intend to bring him back here against their wishes?"

Sam hesitated, and Castiel played a card patiently. He had caught Sam out; clearly the younger man had not thought it through. 

"Fine. Say I believe you, that you want to free Dean. Your motivation doesn't make any sense though. You can't get your money until you get married, and if you run away from here, you won't get anything. How long will it take you to find a woman you trust enough to bring in on this? How will you live until then? Here you have to split with Mary and John, but at least you know they will always look out for you. You will want for nothing."

I'll want for Dean, Castiel thought in his head. He pushed the thought aside. "You may not believe this of me, but I care for your brother. I am wrecked with guilt over what my actions did to him. I can never be happy until he is free." 

"I'm supposed to believe that you care more for Dean than for money, than for your entire future? You really must think me simple." Sam snorted and tossed his cards down, winning the hand. Castiel sighed and took them up to shuffle and deal again. 

"You don't have to believe it, but it is true." he mumbled under the sound of the deck. "I can't explain it, but if there is anything you can trust about me, it is my desire for Dean's freedom." 

"You can explain it, if you want me to believe you!" Sam picked up his cards, his voice in a hiss. "Right now you're asking me, someone who grew up here on Lant street, to believe that there is anything more important than money to someone like you, and I'm sorry but I just can't do that. I understand feeling guilty, but enough to walk willingly into poverty over a man you only knew a few months? What is Dean to you anyway? He was merely your servant, your pawn, your..."

"I'm in love with him!" Castiel felt the words burst from him in shock, and he could do nothing to stop them. They danced in the crackle of the fire, swirled around the table, across the cards in each man's hand, and landed squarely into Sam's consciousness. 

Mary looked over again, her brow furrowed as if she might have heard something but wasn't quite sure. Castiel glanced at her and smiled tightly until Becky drew her attention away yet again. He dropped his cards on the table and buried his head in his hands. Sam still hand't responded. 

"There. Now you know." He mumbled, parting his hands enough to peer at Sam. "That's why I need to fix things, to get Dean out. When he was at Briar we..." Castiel stopped himself. No, he would not confess on behalf of Dean. Whatever Dean wants his brother to know, that's between them. Castiel must stick to his own side. "...I fell in love with him. Gabriel found out and used it to blackmail me to stick with the plan, after I wanted to abandon it for Dean's sake. That's why I want him free now. I don't expect him to forgive me, but I can't let him suffer."

"You...." Sam swallowed, laying down his own cards as well. "Does...." he coughed, looking around to make sure no one was paying them attention, then spoke so softly that Castiel was forced to lean forward. "Does Dean know that you.....how you.....feel?"

Castiel sighed. "I don't know what Dean knows." That was the truth. 

They were quiet for what felt like forever after that. Sam picked up the cards and shuffled them again, though they hadn't finished the game, and re-dealt them. They played an entire hand in silence. After Sam won yet again, he finally spoke. 

"I believe you. I will help you think of a plan." 

Castiel had never been more grateful. His eyes filled with tears and he had to use all his willpower not to throw himself at Sam, to wrap his arms around him in a hug. He had an ally! He was going to...

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Someone was pounding on the front door. 

The kitchen went quiet, all ears straining to catch the sounds from the shop. Castiel noticed Mary surreptitiously shooting looks around the kitchen, grabbing one or two items to hide somewhere in her dress. Incriminating objects, no doubt. 

A few moments passed, and they heard the sounds of feet approaching. The four inhabitants of the kitchen leaped up as the door opened. John entered first, followed by two policemen. 

"Sorry to intrude sirs, ma'ams." The officer spoke, removing his hat. "I am looking for one Mr. Sam Winchester. I was told this was his residence."

Mary raised a hand to her mouth and shot Sam a look. His face was white as he stepped forward. "I am Sam Winchester."

The officer nodded. "Your name was given to us by a man calling himself Dean Winchester. Do you know him?"

The silence of the kitchen was deafening. Even John's face had paled. Mary was hiding her mouth behind two hands now, her eyes sparkling a little too brightly. Becky was looking between everyone, her eyes zooming from face to face. Castiel meanwhile....at the mention of Dean's name, he had sat down. Hard. His tailbone was throbbing, but he could hardly think on that now. Dean's name was still hanging in the air. Winchester. Castiel knew the family went by that name, but it was the first time he had heard it tied to Dean. Not Dean Smith, but Dean Winchester. 

"He is my brother." Sam said, his voice shaking slightly. The officer nodded again. 

"That is what he said as well. He has run into a bit of trouble and is at our station. However, we do not believe him guilty of any crime, but rather a case of mistaken identity. If you could be so kind as to come with us, you can confirm his identity and we will release him straight away, no harm done." 

Sam swallowed. John and Mary were both glaring at him, trying to communicate without words, but Sam didn't even look at them, or at Castiel. Taking a deep breath, he smiled at the officers, then grabbed a hat off the mantle and tucked in his shirt. 

"Of course. Let's go now."


	27. Chapter 27: Dean

Dean knew first thing in the morning that this day would be different. Officer Mutton Chops brought his tray as usual, but it seemed to have double the amount of food on it. He didn't speak, and Dean was scared to attempt a conversation lest the whole thing be taken away. He ate quickly, and the officer whisked the tray away as soon as Dean had finished, returning shortly after with a jug of soapy water, a basin, and a washcloth. 

"Wash yourself," he said brusquely, before turning and walking back down the halls. 

Wash? Dean was flummoxed, but he did as he was told, stripping off the clothes he'd been wearing for five days now and running the cloth over his body. The last time he'd been washed was by Castiel. He tried very hard not to think about that. 

Dean had no choice but to dress in his soiled clothes once again when he'd finished, but he made an effort to shake them out, and switched the order of his shirts, putting Castiel's riding shirt on the outside; it was slightly more presentable, having been up against his skin and avoiding the filth of the cell he was in. 

He used the remaining water to flatten his hair, attempting to slick it back the way he had at Briar. He had never embraced such a style before Briar, but it felt comforting to him now. A small effort to look like he hadn't just had the worst experience of his life. 

A woman in a cleaning uniform came in next, taking away both the washing supplies, and his full pot, returning shortly with a clean one in it's place. Dean felt almost giddy with excitement. There was only one reason he could think of that they would be suddenly that much more interested in providing for him. He was going home. 

He spent the remainder of the morning pacing his cell, looking out the bars at the slightest sound. Was it Sam, coming to confirm his identity? Maybe Mary and John would be with him, they would have a whole family reunion! Well, John likely wouldn't leave the shop unattended, but surely Mary at least would come along. What would they do once Dean was freed? He thought through the possibilities with childlike anticipation. Maybe they would go down to the park! Or get ice cream! Maybe just go home, where Mary would start preparing a large welcome home feast for them all to share in together! Eventually of course, they would want to know what happened and Dean would have to tell them of Gabriel's betrayal, but even that didn't seem so bad. His family would make sure Gabriel was punished. 

Try as he might, however, Dean couldn't focus only on his family. Castiel's frustratingly handsome face kept floating back into his mind's eye, his blue eyes calling out to him even still from here. Where was he? Would Dean ever see him again? Did he even want to? 

A part of him wanted to hunt down Castiel the moment he was free, exact his revenge; but another part wondered if he would even be capable of hurting Castiel. If they were face to face, would Dean be capable of doing anything besides taking Castiel in his arms and kissing him until they forgot everything that had happened between them? Dean wanted to kiss him again. He hated himself for it, but it was true. 

No. He had decided last night that he would forget Castiel entirely. Go back to his old life. Maybe Castiel wouldn't get out of his head that easily, but Dean didn't have to act on it. He just had to move on, trust that wherever he was, Castiel was fine, and Dean was fine. They were never meant to be more than a minor intersection in each other's life stories. 

A flurry of movement caught Dean's eye, and he rushed to the bars of his cell, peering down the hall. Someone was here! He sucked in his breath, hardly daring to hope.

"Winchester!" Dean gasped as Mutton Chops called out down the hall. He'd said his name! His real name! "We've got someone for you."

Sam had never looked more perfect than he did at that moment. His hair had grown longer in the months that had passed, and Dean swore he had stretched in height as well. But his eyes still sparkled the same, his hands still rested casually on his hips and he smiled at his brother. 

"Yes, Officer, I can confirm that this is my brother, Dean Winchester. Dean, you idiot, what have you gotten yourself into?"

Dean exhaled loudly, and started to laugh. "Oh Sammy, you have no idea."

"So that's it right?" Sam turned to the officer. "You said that if I confirmed his identity, you would release him right away. So I can take him home now?"

Mutton Chops pursed his lips, glaring at Dean, who did his best to look innocent and not too hopeful. His toes tapped anxiously inside his boot however, giving him away. The silence stretched on, Dean holding his breath, until Mutton Chops finally looked away and answered gruffly. 

"Yes, he is free to go." He unlocked the cell and Dean came flying out, throwing himself on his brother in the biggest bear hug he had ever given anyone. Sam laughed, returning it. 

"Let's get you out of here, we have so much to talk about!"

Officer Mutton Chops escorted the two back down the hall, Dean going for the first time without someone having a firm grip on his upper arm. He insisted that Dean pose one last time for a photograph, which Dean did with little complaining, and he even managed to sign the name "Dean" in clunky letters on the bottom of a release form. Sam was bouncing away beside him, clearly eager to be leaving but not wanting to upset the officers and give them an excuse to delay anything further. 

Finally, FINALLY, an officer Dean had never spoken with before, led them to the front doors. 

"On behalf of the entire police department, we would like to thank you for your cooperation and understanding, Mr. Winchester."

"I don't understand anything," he replied coolly. "Except that I am free to go."

The officer clenched his jaw, but didn't respond. He pulled the door open for them, and Sam and Dean walked out into the sunlight. 

They headed down the front steps, but once reaching the street, Dean burst out laughing and grabbed Sam into another hug. 

"I was thinking I would never see you again! Oh, I can't believe you're here! I have so much to tell you once we get home. Where is Mary, she couldn't come too?"

"Dean...."

"Sorry, not that I mind of course! You are the most important one, I was just curious. How are we getting to Lant street, do you have enough money to hire a cart?"

"Dean, wait..."

"What? Come on, we shouldn't talk here, let's just figure out how to get home."

"Dean! We...I don't think..."

"Dean? Mr Smith, is that you! Bloody hell, boy, of all the faces to see in the city, can't believe I'm seeing yours!"

The brothers spun around, and Dean's jaw dropped as he saw who the voice belonged to. 

"Mr Turner!" Dean strode forward to shake the groundskeeper's hand, hoping the filth on him wasn't obvious. "What brings you here?"

"I should ask you the same thing, boy!" Rufus looked up and down Dean, taking in his state. "Look like hell."

Dean forced a laugh. "I'm afraid you are not catching me on my best day."

"Yeah, mine neither, of course. Oh! I guess you don't know about what happened."

"What do you mean?" Dean could feel Sam shuffling awkwardly behind him, but he didn't want to seem rude. As far as Rufus was concerned, he was still Dean Smith, the gentleman's servant. 

"Well I don't do gossip! But I reckon you know where Master Novak is, don't you? Seeing as how you left with him and all that."

Dean inhaled and blinked before forcing his face to look more relaxed. "Yeah...I don't wish to gossip either. And my brother here is waiting....." he looked back at Sam, who's face looked strangely pale. What was he so upset about? Dean turned back to Rufus. "....But yes, I could get a message to Cas....Mr. Novak, if it's important. I can't promise he will respond, however."

Rufus snorted. "No one to respond to, at any rate! I just reckon he should know. His uncle's dead."

Dean gasped, his jaw dropping. "Mr. Angeles is DEAD??"

"Doc says his heart gave out after a bit of a nasty shock. He held on for a couple days, but he's passed now. Naturally, but the village council said the police should be informed at any rate, case they want to look in on it. All the staff of Briar been heading out since it happened, but since I was the one going toward the city, I volunteered to do it. One last job for the old man, may he rest in peace."

Dean just stared at him in shock. Zachariah Angeles was dead....from a shock? Had Castiel's departure really been enough to cause heart failure? Had Dean helped aid in the death of an old man??

Sam nudged him, and Dean cleared his throat, finding his voice again. "I'm...I'm so sorry to hear that."

"Weren't your fault, boy. Anyway, I'll be letting you two get on. Just see that Master Novak hears, won't you? Briar is his now, if he wants it."

"I'll...yes, I will do my best to pass on the news." Dean shook Rufus's hand again, and the former groundskeeper bowed his head, then headed up the steps into the police station. 

"I can't believe that," Dean muttered to Sam as soon as Rufus was out of earshot. 

"Dean, come on. We really need to talk." Sam grabbed Deans arm and started down the street.

"What's the rush?" Dean pulled his arm out of Sam's grasp, but continued walking quickly beside him. "I mean, I've got so much to tell you, but it doesn't have to be this second. I'd kill for a shave, a hot meal, and a good night's sleep first."

"There's no time for that." Sam ducked down an alley, and Dean followed him, confused. They stuck to the side roads after that, Sam leading Dean further away from the police station, deeper into the sort of areas Dean recognised. Lant street imitations. Dean knew they had to be on the other side of the city from where he grew up, but the neighbourhoods still seemed the same. In a way, it was somewhat comforting. 

"Sam! Come on, what are we even doing? I don't think the police are following us, and it will take us all day if we plan on getting home like this! If you don't have money for a cart, tell me now, I'm sure I can get some." He'd seen more than one ladies purse that he could easily have relieved of it's money by now. 

"Dean, just trust me, alright?" Sam shot back, ducking into yet another alley. Dean followed him again, his brow furrowed, until finally Sam found what he was looking for. A dingy pub, strangely loud for the fact that it was early afternoon. Without looking back, Sam marched right in, Dean hesitating before joining him. 

The place seemed to host some sort of gambling event. The men were drinking and yelling at something taking place in a ring near the back. Cockfights perhaps, or maybe dogs? Dean couldn't tell, and had no interest in finding out. Sam ordered two beers from the barmaid, then hustled Dean into a booth in the corner, far from whatever event was holding all the men's attention. 

"Ok, what is going on?" Dean asked as soon as the barmaid had left, their drinks on the table. Dean took a sip, his first beer in months. It tasted awful. 

"Dean, we can't go home."

"What do you mean, we can't go home? Where the hell else are we supposed to go?"

"I don't know, but so much has happened...fuck, it's hard to explain. I said I'd help with a plan, but then the cops came and there was no time to even scrape my savings together..."

"A plan for what? Sam, you're not making any sense!" Dean leaned forward, clasping his hands. "Just take a breath and think. Of course we're going home, we have to let Mary and John know-"

"They already know. They know everything." Sam interrupted, shoving his beer to the side. "Dean, they're the reason you went to jail."

Dean stared for a minute, then started to laugh. "Oh come on, Sammy! I know you have had your issues with them, things weren't always great between you two..."

"Understatement," Sam muttered under his breath. Dean continued as if he hadn't heard. 

"But they didn't send me to jail! Gabriel did, the bastard. I'll have to tell you the whole story, he stabbed me in the back from the very beginning."

"No, Dean! Listen to me carefully." Sam leaned forward again, stopping just shy of gripping Dean's arms. He stared at him straight in the face, waiting until Dean caught his eye, waiting for Dean to fully be focused on him. 

"Gabriel was working for Mary. She set the whole thing up, to free Castiel and get her hands on his money. Gabriel and Castiel...they're there. At Lant street."

Dean stared at him for almost a full minute, then shook his head slowly. "No, Sammy, no...you must have not understood the whole thing. Gabriel must have took Castiel there as part of the plan to make it look like I had screwed up, to try and win Mary to his side or something."

"I didn't misunderstand. I was right there when they explained it to Castiel...he hadn't known either. Mary told him how she'd arranged the whole thing, for you to go to jail so Castiel would be free, Gabriel was just working for her. I guess he's been offered a cut of the money or something. They're going to marry Castiel to Becky Rosen, remember her? And once he's married, they're going to take all his money and basically keep him around as a personal pay cheque. John even went so far as to threaten to make Castiel 'disappear' if he refused; once he's married to Becky, she'd have widow's rights over his money, and you know how much she loves Mary, she'd do whatever they asked her to."

Sam took a deep breath, then leaned back, reaching for his abandoned beer. He took several drinks while Dean continued to stare. His mind was utterly blank, but there was this strange crashing sound in his ears. The sound, perhaps, of his entire universe exploding around him. 

If Sam was right, then Dean hadn't been betrayed by Gabriel and Castiel. He'd been betrayed by his own family. 

All his life, he'd been raised to believe that family was the most important thing in the world. Nothing came before family. It didn't even matter if they were blood, family didn't end in blood anyway, family was the people you stayed with, the ones you protected at all costs, you loved and took care of at the expense of all others. 

Dean had even chose his family over Castiel. When he started to realise he was in love with the man, he had pushed aside the idea because Castiel didn't belong with Dean's family, his rough around the edges but essentially well meaning family. 

Who had Castiel with them now. Who had chosen him and his money over Dean. 

Dean suddenly sank back into his seat, his head hitting the back. Was he hyperventilating? His breath seemed to be coming out faster than usual. The rushing sound in his ears hadn't faded yet. 

His own family. They were criminals, true, but he had believed them good. He had believed them...

"You're wrong, Sammy." he whispered, barely even hearing himself. "You're wrong. You just didn't understand."

"Dean....Dean, I'm so sorry." Sam whispered back, pressing his lips together. "I wish I was wrong. You have no idea how much. But I'm not." 

He took a deep breath and leaned forward again. "And actually, there's more. You should know, Castiel is....he's Mary's real..." Sam hesitated, taking another gulp of beer. "He's Mary's son. That's why this all started. She traded him with Mrs. Novak when he was a baby, for you.... Mrs. Novak's real son."

Dean couldn't listen to this anymore. He leaped to his feet, making his way into the crowd of men. They were mostly too drunk to even notice his presence, and in a matter of minutes, he had relieved several of them of their pocket money. He slipped out of the crowd, still utterly unnoticed, and marched back out the door, motioning to Sam to follow him.

It was his turn to take the lead, storming down the alleys until he found a main road, Sam on his heels still speaking but Dean was completely tuning out the sound. He marched purposely until he found an inn, with a few carriages waiting outside. He spoke quickly to one driver, then gave him the money he'd stolen from the tavern, and got in the back, Sam scrambling after him. 

"Dean, this is a bad idea." Sam bit his lip and looked out the window as the carriage started moving. 

"We're going, Sammy. I don't even care. We're going to Lant street right now, and I'm getting to the bottom of this once and for all."


	28. Chapter 28: Castiel

"What are we going to do, John?! What are we going to do now!" Mary was panicking, running around the kitchen, her hands flapping like tiny bird's wings. Castiel couldn't help being amused. He sat calmly in the kitchen, at the table by the fire, shuffling the cards Sam had left behind. 

"Calm down, Mary! We have to think!" John was pacing as well, though in a smaller, more controlled way, more like he was shifting between feet. Castiel shook his head, and began to deal out a solo game. 

"Think about what?! Dean was not supposed to be released yet, I was assured we had at least a week! Gabriel isn't even back yet with the date he managed to arrange for the wedding!"

"I know where Gabriel is!" John shouted, reaching out to grab Mary's arms as she fluttered past him. "It doesn't matter! This changes nothing! We can still continue on with the wedding, we will think of another way to get Dean out of our hair!"

"Sam will tell him, John, you know that! Sam will tell Dean everything! Dammit, why did we let that useless boy stay?! He should have been on the streets the moment Dean was gone."

"He would have hunted down Dean at Briar, you know that as well as I! Now dammit yourself, Mary, calm down and think!"

"Twenty years, John. Twenty years I've been planning this, I will not be stopped now by that idiot pickpocket and his useless brother, I won't!" Mary spun away from him, slamming her palms on the table. "Ok, you are right. This changes nothing. We simply must leave. We must be gone when they arrive. Becky, you can write, correct? You can write a message to Gabriel while John and I gather our things. We can go to the Harvelle's! No, too obvious, Dean would look there. Crowley's place! Yes, that's better."

"Becky, I'll fetch you a pen and paper. Mary, start packing, take only the essentials and the savings! Make sure there is no money left here for Sam and Dean. We should aim to be gone within an hour." John rushed from the room then came back, thrusting the writing materials at Becky. "Just write that we will be at Crowley's, and Gabriel is to meet us there, don't worry about making it subtle, neither boy can read. Now Castiel..." John turned toward him, and Castiel looked up innocently from his cards. 

"You should run upstairs and help Mary, make sure she has everything you need."

"No, thank you."

The frantic energy of the kitchen ceased suddenly and all eyes turned toward him. Castiel bit back a smile as he looked around at the shocked faces. 

"Excuse me?" John whispered, a dangerous lilt to his voice. 

"I'm rather enjoying my card game at the moment, much more than I would enjoy packing a case. I believe I will continue to play."

Everyone continued to stare at him, as Castiel turned back to the spread before him, moving a few cards to their correct positions and flipping over a new one. This was delicious. It was decadent. Dean was free and the horrible plot was crumbling around them. Castiel just had to delay things long enough that Dean could arrive here, and they could....

WHAM!

A fist hit Castiel hard in the back of the head, causing him to jerk forward, narrowly avoiding hitting his face on the table. He sprang to his feet, whirling around to face his attacker. John stood, his fist raised for another blow, eyes sparking. 

"John!" Mary shrieked, but he completely ignored her.

"How DARE you come into MY home..."

"I didn't come anywhere, I was forced!" Castiel retorted. John took another swing, but Castiel had years of practice dodging blows dealt in anger, and he swerved easily. "Are you really so dimwitted as to assume that I was incapable of thinking for myself? That I might not wish to aid you?"

John swung a third time, and Castiel ducked, grabbing the chair and swinging it around to connect with John's legs. He fell with a howl, hitting hard, but climbed quickly back to his feet. 

"You ungrateful little shit."

"John, Castiel, please!" Mary threw herself toward them, but John pushed her back. 

"We're offering you everything!"

"You're offering me a gilded cage!" Castiel yelled. "I grew up in such a cage, what makes you think I would be so eager to walk into another?"

"Castiel, we are your family!" Mary was in tears now and she leaped forward again to cling to his arm. "We freed you!"

"Dean was your family more than I, and you threw him aside first chance you had!" Castiel swung to face her now. "That is hardly a recommendation of your parenting skills."

"It would be easy to make you disappear," John hissed, cracking his knuckles. "You understand that right?"

Castiel laughed humorlessly. "You need me to be complicit if you are to get anywhere near my money. Want me to marry this one?" He jerked his head toward Becky, who squeaked and hid behind the paper in her hands. "Why would I do that if I think you're just going to kill me afterwards?"

"No one is going to kill you!" Mary pushed her way between Castiel and John, planting her feet and staring her husband in the face. "John, take a walk and clear your head! Now!" 

John glared at the two for a moment, then turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. Becky squeaked again in the silence, then remembering the materials in her hand, she sat down and started composing the note for Gabriel. 

Castiel turned around himself and righted his chair, sitting back down to his cards. Mary sat across from him in Sam's vacated seat, wiping the tears from her eyes. 

"Castiel, you must not anger him!"

Castiel snorted, picking up his cards to shuffle. His layout had been disturbed by the fight. 

"Please, try to understand me! Remember what I told you about your...fake mother? She was unmarried when she came to us, but we forged the papers, creating a false Mr. Novak to marry her to, so her son wouldn't be born a bastard, and in the hopes of hiding him. We could..." she swallowed, casting a look toward Becky. "In our line of work, arranging for false documents is child's play. It would be nothing at all for John to simply create a record of your marriage to Becky."

Castiel stopped shuffling and met her eyes, understanding at last. He was not vital to this plan whatsoever. Only his name was. 

"Then why not do so? Why draw out this charade with me in the first place?"

Mary choked back a sob, reaching out to clutch his hand. "You are my son! Castiel, I love you so much...all I want is for us to be together as a family. I am the one insisting that we do this the legit way, see? We could be happy together! We could be a real family, in comfort! With wealth!"

"Mary..." Castiel took her hand willingly, for the first time since meeting her. He actually felt sympathy for her, to his utter surprise. But as he looked into her eyes, noticing for the first time that they were blue like his; he didn't see the grieving mother she appeared to be. He saw Sam, sporting bruises from being struck, being ordered around like a slave. She hadn't been a mother to him, though he had desperately needed one. Castiel saw her as she must have looked 20 years ago, giving away her own son in exchange for a chance at wealth some day in the distant future. He saw Dean. This woman had intentionally hurt Dean, and that was something Castiel could never forget. He could never forgive. 

"What is going on??" Gabriel's entrance interrupted the moment. "I just saw John outside, he said we were leaving?"

Mary jumped to her feet. "Dean is being released early. The police came and took Sam away to identify him. Unless Sam stops him, the two of them will be here in hours."

Gabriel swore. "Sam won't stop him. You know those brothers are almost disturbingly codependent, if there is one thing we can count on; Sam's probably told him everything by now, and knowing Dean he is on his way here to confront you directly."

"That is why we must leave. Becky, that note is no longer necessary, come help me upstairs. Gabriel...." she looked at Castiel and bit her lip, then back at the other man. "Watch Castiel, please. Make sure he stays here."

Gabriel rolled his eyes and agreed, taking the empty seat at the table. Becky and Mary hurried out of the room, and Gabriel levelled a look at Castiel. 

"Something tells me that this is exactly what you were waiting for." Gabriel murmured once the room was cleared of all but the two of them. 

"I wasn't expecting this particular turn of events, but I would be lying if I said they didn't please me." Castiel replied.

"I just don't get you, Castiel." Gabriel reached over and pulled the cards away, taking over the shuffling. Castiel glared, but let him. "I mean, finding out your childhood was a lie, yes fine. That is bound to shock anyone. But you refuse to see it as a blessing! A lot of people would be thrilled if they thought themselves an orphan and then found out they had a loving mother like Mrs. W. Even if she gave you up as a baby, she thought she was giving you a better life! A solid, upstanding childhood, followed by a loving reunion with her as an adult, where you two could reap the financial benefits of your experience. Is that really so awful of her that you must continue to fight her every step of the way?"

Castiel folded his hands in front of him, and looked evenly at Gabriel. "For what she did to Dean, she deserves worse than my disliking her."

Gabriel groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "This Dean thing again! Castiel, you have to get it together! You only saw Dean Smith, the devoted manservant. You never even MET Dean Winchester, the pickpocket. He's been committing crimes since he was a child. You think Mary threw this innocent, wonderful person into jail, but she didn't! She helped a criminal get punished in exchange for her son's return to her. Why can't you get past that?"

"You know why."

"You continue to harbour delusions of romance toward him? Still, even after knowing the truth?" Gabriel slammed the deck of cards down in frustration. "I thought you had more sense than this. I know for a fact that Dean is interested in women, have seen his clumsy come-on's with my own eyes, as he flirts his way through packs of theatre girls. If things were reversed, he would not be pining over you."

Castiel stood and walked toward the window, turning his back on Gabriel. He felt the other man watching him, but knew that as long as he didn't leave the room, he was fine. Gabriel had a point. Dean had chosen to continue the plan, he had meant to betray Castiel just as surely as Castiel had betrayed him. But did that mean that Dean did not care? Maybe he had, just as Castiel had, seen no other way. 

Gabriel did not know that Castiel knew how Dean tasted. He did not know that Castiel knew what Dean sounded like in the throes of pleasure, what he felt like under Castiel's hands, how he opened himself up and took all of Castiel deep inside. 

Maybe Dean did like girls, but he liked Castiel as well, Castiel was sure of it. 

None of this mattered in the end anyway. Dean would never forgive Castiel, and he was perfectly aware of it. It didn't matter. Castiel loved him anyway, and he would sacrifice for him. 

He'd chosen himself over Dean once before, but he would not again. He was ready to put Dean first, regardless of his own happiness. 

If he left...he would have nothing. But Dean could come home and find his parents. Without Castiel, they would be forced to adjust their plan around Dean instead, use his name ot access Castiel's money. Dean was entitled to half of it...perhaps all, if Castiel were out of the picture. Castiel was a scholar. He could find work, he was sure. Change his name, and start at the bottom. He would never be wealthy again, but he didn't need to be. He'd be rich in the knowledge that Dean had his family back, Dean had money. 

Castiel had reached the window by the door. Without a second thought, without looking back, he yanked it opened and ran into the mid-afternoon fog. 

He heard Gabriel yelling behind him, but Castiel continued to run. He had no idea which direction he was going in, but as long as he kept moving, he would be fine, he had to be fine! Gabriel knew these streets better than Castiel, the only thing Castiel had going for him was speed. He had to lose himself and quickly! 

He turned down another alley, and then another, knocking people out of his way as he ran. Was Gabriel chasing him? He couldn't be positive, couldn't risk looking behind him and slowing himself down. Keep moving, keep running. Was that a main street over to the left? Castiel swerved down that alley, running toward the sound of horses and carriages, of traffic and life. A main street, he could lose himself there! He could....

He ran right into someone, hard, and fell to the ground. 

"Cas!!!"


	29. Chapter 29: Dean

Dean stared in shock at the man crumbled on the street at his feet. He had just gotten out of the carriage, as close as it would get him to the locksmith's shop anyway, and had started walking when someone had stumbled out of nowhere and run right into Sam's enormous frame. He hadn't looked up yet, but Dean would know that shape anywhere. 

"Cas!!!"

Castiel looked up, his eyes widened in shock, then leaped to his feet. "Dean!"

Time seemed to stop as they stared at each other, blue eyes falling into green, both chest heaving as they tried to catch their breath. Castiel's hair was a mess as usual, a couple days of stubble on his chin as if he hadn't been shaved properly. His clothes were slightly dishevelled, but that could be from his run. He wore the same travel boots he'd had on the last time Dean saw him, on the train.

The train. 

Sam cleared his throat, and Dean stepped backwards, away from Castiel, the memory overtaking him. 

"You..."

"Dean, I'm sorry..."

"You!" Dean felt a surge of anger swell in him, and he clenched his fists to keep from lashing out. "You're SORRY?"

"I didn't mean to, I didn't want to..."

"You sent me to JAIL!" Dean was getting louder now, starting to attract attention. Sam shuffled again, awkwardly trying to move the men further away from prying eyes. Their feet were planted however, and Castiel's eyes flashed in anger as well.

"You were trying to do the same to me! It was your intent all along, don't blame me for being the one to actually follow through!"

"I never would have done it!" Dean lied, and Castiel rolled his eyes and groaned. 

"You would have and you know it! You told me, remember?? You told me to go! You didn't want me..."

"I always want you!" Dean cried, and turned away bringing his fists to his eyes. "Dammit, Cas, you have no right to do this to me now. I was in jail because of you, how dare you make me feel...."

"Gabriel blackmailed me, Dean. He guessed what I was feeling and he used it against me. Then after we......" Castiel swallowed, shooting a look at Sam. "Afterwards, I wanted out, and you told me to go. You were still planning on turning me in, you were using me....so I did what I thought I had to do."

"I was trying to protect you, dammit!" Dean turned back around. "I thought you soft, ok? I thought you soft and I wanted to keep you away from the ugliness of this, the ugliness of my life. I thought you'd be in jail for a bit, and it would be awful, but they would realise that you weren't Gabriel and they'd let you go. You'd be free in a few days, free of your Uncle, free of everything, and you'd never....you would never have to face this." He gestured down Lant street. Dean could see at least two drunks passed out on the street, and the smell of stale urine was wafting toward them. 

"Dean, Castiel....we can't discuss this here and now, there are more pressing things to think on. Castiel, what are you even doing out here?" Sam stepped between them, putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder. Dean fought down a wave of irrational jealousy at the sight of someone else touching Cas, and he looked away. 

"I ran away. John and Mary are packing, they wanted to leave before you and Dean got back. Gabriel was meant to be keeping me, but I ran out the back door."

"What do you mean, they meant to be gone?!" Dean whirled around again. "My parents are not abandoning me!"

Castiel gasped and looked at Sam. "You didn't tell him?"

"He doesn't believe me," Sam replied. Dean suddenly wanted to punch the both of them. 

"Dean, come with me. We can talk, please. Just don't..."

But Dean was gone, marching down the street towards his home, toward the familiar door with the locksmith's key logo hanging over top, where John and Mary would be waiting for him, surely. He heard Sam curse and follow, and Castiel arguing under his breath. Dean shot a glance back at them and saw that Sam was pulling Castiel along, despite his obvious attempts to get away. Good, Dean thought. He should witness his lies collapse!

Dean pushed open the door of the Lant street locksmith without knocking, and called out as soon as he was inside. 

"Dean!" John dropped the ledger he was holding and rushed around the counter. "You're here!"

"John, hi!" Dean grinned at him and grabbed his hand for a shake, trying to ignore the man's stiff arm. "Where is Mary?"

She came running down the steps a moment later, hands over her mouth in such a familiar gesture that Dean felt himself melt. His dear mother. 

"Mary!" he ran to embrace her, and she returned the hug, running her fingers through his hair as she had done when he was young. 

"My own precious boy," she whispered, cupping his face. 

"Mary, we have to talk, I have to know..."

"Yes he does." 

Dean spun around. Castiel and Sam had entered the room, both standing by the door with their arms crossed. Sam was the one who had spoken, and he continued now. 

"Tell him, Mary. He has the right to know."

Mary squeezed Dean's hand. "What has that boy been telling you, is he filling your head with nonsense? Dean, Dean, come sit down, we'll have some tea."

John came over and clapped Dean on the back. "Yes, tea! We have this new special blend...I'll brew it up myself! You've had such a hard few days, I know..."

Dean's inside's froze. 

He knew about John's special tea, heard rumours about it, though never seen it himself. 

And for John to be so welcoming, so kind....

Dean took a step back. 

"Dean? What's wrong?"

But Dean continued to stare at John, taking another step back towards his brother. 

"Dean?" Mary tried now, and Dean shuddered. 

"Mary, why is Castiel here?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Let's have some tea and talk...."

"No, tell me now. Why is he here?"

"Come on, son." John stepped forward to grab Dean's arm, but Dean wrenched it away. 

"You have never called me 'son'" he said, still feeling numb. "And you'd be furious at me for showing up like this with Castiel in tow, an outsider...unless you didn't think of him as one, unless you view him as one of us..."

"Dean, we will explain it to you, let's just stay calm." Mary put a hand on John's arm, steadying him. "I'm sure you're very surprised right now, and Sam has been telling you tales..."

"I told him the truth." Sam said, stepping up so he was side by side with Dean. "Maybe now you should try it as well."

"Mary...." Dean could hear the pleading voice in his voice and he hated himself for it. "Mary, please, why is Castiel here?"

Mary sighed, the steely glint reappearing in her eyes, all hint of motherly affection gone in a blink. "Fine, you want me to be the bad guy? Here it is! Castiel is my son, and I brought him here. Happy now?"

Dean jerked back, almost falling but Sam and Castiel both grabbed an arm, keeping Dean upright. The three of them stood, arms linked together, staring at the Winchester couple. 

"Sorry, now you know. And now you have no reason to stay, so there's the door. Castiel, dear, come along, we have arrangements to make."

A harsh laugh burst in Dean's ear and he turned in shock to see that it had come out of Castiel's mouth. He had never imagined the man capable of making such a sound. 

"Really, Mary? Really?" Castiel laughed again, and Mary winced. 

"Castiel....son, please."

Castiel sighed and stepped forward. Dean caught the glimmer of victory in Mary's eyes, the moment she thought she had been successful; and she saw it disappear as Castiel raised a fist and punched her directly in the face. 

John roared and threw himself at Castiel, who dodged the first blow but was less lucky with the second, which landed square in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. 

Dean's vision narrowed. Forgetting that he was undernourished and exhausted from days in jail, forgetting that John had been a father to him his whole life, forgetting even that Mary had kept him out of fights since he was a child, Dean leaped forward. He only saw that fist connecting with Castiel's stomach, only saw that someone was causing Castiel pain, and Dean had to stop it however he could. 

He heard Sam yelling, but couldn't make out the words as he threw himself between John and Castiel, shoving John back as hard as he could while Castiel gasped for breath and tried to stand upright. John regained his balance and surged forward, but Sam took the opportunity to throw himself into the fray as well. 

It was chaos. Mary was shrieking and pleading for calm, John was bellowing as his fists flailed, landing on any one who got in his way, while Sam, Dean, and Castiel were matching him blow for blow; not one of the 3 younger men had been in a real fight before, but they had strength in numbers, giving as good as they got. 

A whistle sounded from outside, piercing through the chaos into Dean's consciousness. 

"Police!" He roared, and grabbed Castiel's hand, yanking him back through the house toward the rear exit, Sam following right along. More whistles sounded, and John did not bother pursuing them, as he desperately tried to hide any criminal evidence before they arrived. Mary on the other hand, was flying along behind them. 

"Castiel, please!" She cried as she reached the doorway. Dean felt Castiel's hand pull from his own, and he slowed to watch the scene play out. Castiel hesitated, looking back at her for a moment. She stood framed in the doorway, her blonde hair blowing around her face, arms out as she pleaded with Castiel. He opened his mouth to say something, then caught Dean's eye instead. He inhaled deeply, straightened his shirt, then reached for Dean's hand once more. Dean squeezed it tightly, and the two broke into a run, following Sam away from Lant street. 

Weeks later, Sam would hear through contacts he maintained in the city that Mary and John had been arrested that day. The police, drawn to the sounds of the fight, had found enough fenced merchandise in the house to lock both of them away for the rest of their lives. Gabriel disappeared into the wind. 

At this moment however, as they made their way as far from the Lant street locksmith's shop as they could, they had no way of knowing what was happening behind them. All Dean knew was that Castiel's hand was still tight in his own, and he never wanted to let it go again. 

They slipped into an inn for the evening, paid for by Dean's swift fingers and an unguarded cash register, and finally sat and stared at each other: the two brothers and Castiel, suddenly completely alone in the world. They had no money, jobs, or a place to go, and the atmosphere around them continued to crackle with untold secrets. 

"Somebody needs to speak," Sam finally broke the tension, and Dean laughed nervously. 

"I don't even know where to begin," he answered. Castiel chuckled, his voice laced with exhaustion. His hand was still in Dean's, and Dean squeezed it softly. 

"I guess...." Dean sighed, turning to look Castiel in the face. "Introductions? Do any of us really know each other?" he pulled his hand out of Castiel's, then held it out for a handshake instead. "My name is Dean Winchester. Technically. Though I guess that's not really my background, is it? And I guess you know by now that I'm not a manservant. I'm a fingersmith."

Castiel laughed softly again, and shook Dean's hand. "I really am Castiel Novak, though I guess the background to that name is just as fake. I was born a Winchester."

"And I was born an Angeles? If I understood this whole thing correctly." He looked at Sam then, and Sam nodded. 

"I'm Sam Winchester, but I don't think any of it matters anymore. All of our identities were invented, so we might as well just choose to stick with the ones we're comfortable with. The more pressing issue is what we're planning to do next." 

Castiel rubbed a hand over his face. "I still have that money in the bank. If we find someone for me to marry, or Dean to marry....we have equal rights to the money." 

"We do??" Dean sat up in surprise. "Wait, I'm rich?"

Castiel smiled, and looked at Sam. "I guess we should start with everyone having the same information."

And so the story came out, piece by piece, with Sam and Castiel taking turns sharing what they knew. Dean took it all in, wary at first, but acceptance came through in the end. By the time they were finished cluing him in, Dean felt like a heavy weight had dropped into his stomach. He stood and walked toward the wall, the most distance he could get in the small room, and leaned his head against it, deep in thought. After several minutes of silence, he finally turned around. 

"I guess I have news to share as well, though not nearly as much. Cas....I ran into Rufus earlier outside the police station. He was reporting a death." Dean ran his fingers through his hair, not wanting to see the pained look on Castiel's face when he heard the news. "Your uncle passed away."

There was a beat, then Castiel leaped to his feet. "Dean, are you serious?!" 

Dean nodded in surprise, then shock as Castiel let out a whoop and wrapped Dean in a huge hug. "You kept this from me?? This solves all our problems! Dean, the only reason I had to marry to get my inheritance was because it was being held by Zachariah as my guardian! With him dead, I can get it myself! We can get it, your share as well!"

Dean gasped, and Castiel hugged him again. Dean returned it but pulled away quickly to look at Castiel carefully. "But....he was your uncle, are you not....a bit sad?"

Castiel laughed, then cut it off suddenly as Dean's look. "You're right....there is more to this story that you don't know."

Castiel turned and walked back to sit on the bed. He looked at Sam, who shifted awkwardly. 

"Do you...I mean....should I...go for a walk or something? Do you guys need to talk alone?"

"Sam..." Dean flushed a bit. He wasn't sure how much Sam had realised about himself and Castiel's situation. 

"Dean...it's ok. You're my brother and I love you. No matter what." he stood and clapped Dean on the shoulder, then headed for the door. "I'll go see what I can sort out for dinner for us. You two talk." 

The sound of the door closing seemed to have the opposite effect, making the other two fall into silence. Castiel stayed perched on the bed, twiddling his thumbs nervously, while Dean leaned back against the wall. He spoke first. 

"What is it?"

Castiel cringed a bit, refusing to meet Dean's eye. "I don't really know how to say. You...you said you thought me soft. You thought me good, didn't you? You thought me good..." Castiel sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. Dean felt his heart sink and resisted the urge to go comfort him.

"Of course I did. I do. Even after all this, I still....Cas, when I was in jail, I thought I wanted to be free of you forever. I was so angry, I hated you so much. But just one look into your eyes again, and I'm right back where I was. If that's how I can react to that situation, what do you think you can tell me now that will change my mind?"

A tear fell from Castiel's eye, and Dean's resolve broke. He all but flew across the room to take the other man in his arms, and press a kiss to his hair. "Cas...."

"Dean, I am not good." Castiel said at last, his voice breaking. "My uncle....his library....it was poison. It was filth. That is who I am....the product of filth. I grew up in a madhouse you know; before Briar, I lived in a madhouse, believing myself the son of a dead madwoman. Zachariah fetched me when I was 10, and took me in as a secretary for his collection of pornography. That is what we studied in that library, that is what I spent my days doing. I catalogued and preserved pornography for my uncle."

Dean hugged Castiel to him closer as he thought of what to say. Clearly this was a deep issue for Cas, something he struggled with, but Dean did not see much harm in it. It was just stories about people having sex, after all, it did not change Castiel's innate goodness! The madhouse was a little more upsetting to him, but it had been a long time ago. 

He pressed another kiss to Castiel's head and whispered again, "Cas...."

"There's more." Castiel gulped and pulled away, looking anywhere but at Dean. "In the evenings, I would read....these stories, the pornography. And the men would...." he broke off again, and Dean's stomach sank. He stood and went to Castiel again, gripping his arms. 

"Cas...you don't have to say if you don't want to."

Castiel turned around, burying his face in Dean's shoulder. "I have to. No more secrets. The men...Zachariah never let them touch me, but I was still their entertainment. I was expected to put on a show for them, and they would listen to me read and....reward themselves. Sometimes on me."

Dean had lost track of how many times his heart had broken since the first day he looked into Castiel's perfect blue eyes, but it broke again now. He pulled back, bringing Castiel's face up to look at him. 

"You are good, Cas." He whispered. Castiel shook his head angrily. 

"No, were you not listening? I was poisoned to not care about any of it. My whole life, I only thought of these things as filth, separate from myself. I only knew the kindness of nurses, and the cruel abuse of my Uncle and his staff. And then to save myself, I hurt you. Dean..." Castiel pulled away. "This is why I say I am poison. I never intended for you to forgive me for what I did to you, I only wanted to free you. You should take the money and go to Briar with Sam, you two could be gentlemen there."

"Castiel, you ridiculous...." Dean swooped in, grabbed Castiel's face in his hands and pressed their lips together. 

Castiel gasped, opening his mouth, and Dean took the chance to deepen the kiss, entwining their tongues, pressing himself closer to Castiel's body. Cas seemed to hesitate, then returned the kiss, grabbing Dean's hips to pull him closer, backing against the wall in a perfect mirror image of their first time. 

Dean broke the kiss a few moments later, pressing his forehead to Castiel's. "Cas.... My adopted mother sold me. My adopted father threatened to kill me. My birth mother abandoned me. Everyone who was supposed to care for me has walked away. If you think for even a second that I am going to let you do the same...."

Castiel brought his hand to Dean's face, resting it on his cheek. "I don't want to abandon you...I lo...I mean....you....Dean, you deserve better than me."

Dean kissed him again. "But I LOVE you."

Castiel pulled away in shock, and Dean felt the giant weight from before flying away, leaving him with the words. He had said it. He had said it at last. 

"Dean!"

"Cas, it's true. I love you. I love you so much."

"Dammit, Dean...." Castiel grabbed him and kissed him back. "I love you too."


	30. Chapter 30: Castiel

When Castiel had left Briar under the cover of darkness, Dean and Gabriel at his side, he had been so certain that was the end. He hadn't even bothered looking back one last time, because he hadn't cared. He was leaving and he was never returning. 

When Castiel returned to Briar, it was with a bright sun shining overhead and birds singing in the treetops. The house was still grey, the chimneys still crumbling, the ivy still threatening to overtake everything, and yet it had never looked less depressing. Castiel grinned at Dean beside him, and entwined their fingers as the cart shuffled up the drive. Sam pointedly looked away from them and studied the manor instead.

"Wow, it needs a lot of work doesn't it?"

"Perfect, no time like the present to learn a new trade, Sammy! Fixing this dump up will give us lots to do!" Dean chuckled, punching Sam softly on the arm. Sam glared at him. 

"I thought we were rich now, can't we hire someone to do this?"

"Nonsense! We're rich now, so we can afford to take the time to do it ourselves, do it right!" 

Castiel laughed. "We'll hire someone, don't worry. We need someone who actually knows what he's doing to make sure you two don't have a wall fall on you."

Dean grinned and shook his head, then leaned in to kiss Castiel. Castiel's heart fluttered as it always did these days, unable to accept that Dean could just touch him, kiss him, any time he felt like it. That Castiel was free to do the same. 

Sam groaned. "Come on you two, I'm right here!"

"You sure are," Dean laughed. 

Castiel watched the brothers indulgently. After Sam had returned to the inn that night, Dean had taken him out for a talk. Castiel didn't know what exactly was said between them, but Sam had returned smiling, welcoming Castiel like a brother. Any animosity that had existed between them at Lant street was a distant memory, and Castiel was pleased to find that he actually enjoyed the younger Winchester's company, though not as much as he enjoyed Dean's of course. 

They had gone to the bank the following morning, and the money had been released without issue to one Mr. Castiel Novak, and his associate Mr. Dean Winchester. They stayed in the inn a few more days, debating their next move, but ultimately they decided to return to Briar. It legally belonged to Castiel, and despite everything awful that had happened there, it was also the place he and Dean had first fallen in love. Dean had an idea that they would fix it up to it's former glory, then in a few years perhaps they would sell it and use the money to travel the world. Castiel wasn't even sure the place was salvageable, but he loved Dean for trying. 

They climbed down from the cart as it reached the front steps, and Castiel was shocked to hear himself being hailed. 

"Master Novak! Bloody hell, it is you! Welcome home, sir!"

"Mr. Singer!" Castiel laughed and ran to meet him, shaking his hand vigorously. "What are you still doing here?"

"Well someone had to take care of the horses, and I had some savings put aside, so I reckoned on doing it for a bit, at least until you showed up again."

Castiel grinned. "I'm thrilled to hear it, that's one more thing we don't have to worry about! Mr. Singer, you remember Dean of course? It's Winchester by the way, not Smith. He's to be the other Master of this house, along with his brother Sam."

If Bobby was surprised or confused by this information he didn't show it, but simply stuck his hand out and shook hands with the two brothers. "Master Winchester, Master Winchester. Welcome to Briar!"

They headed inside, and Sam whooped at the sight of the place, with it's high walls and old portraits. He ran off, saying something about exploring and finding his own room, and Castiel just laughed, then reached for Dean's hand. 

"Come here. I want to show you something."

A sudden nervousness struck him as he stood outside the large wooden doors. No one was allowed inside! He could still hear Zachariah's voice wheezing at him, hear the distant sound of bookends hitting the wall as Castiel ducked from their trajectory. Dean pulled Castiel's hand up and pressed his lips to the back of it. 

"It's ok."

It was ok. Zachariah would never threaten him again. Castiel took a deep breath, and opened the doors. 

The room looked exactly like it had when Castiel had last been here: the shelves were stacked like collapsed dominoes, and the entire floor was carpeted in ripped pages, broken covers, slashed prints. Dark ink stains could be seen everywhere, the result of Castiel's rage, his revenge. His final revenge as it turned out. 

"This is what killed him." He said softly, as he stepped over the brass line in the floor, pulling Dean along with him. "He saw what I had done and it killed him."

"He deserved it." Dean replied, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. "He deserved worse for ever hurting you."

Castiel kissed him chastely, then turned back to survey the mess. "I am going to fix up this room myself, I think. I don't want your or Sam's help." He looked back at Dean and smiled sadly. "I made the mess, and I will clean it. But when I am finished...." He looked back across the room. "I will seal it off. Erase it from the house itself, if I can."

Dean nodded. "You do what you think is best."

Castiel smiled at him, then pulled him back out of the room. "I have one more thing to show you."

Castiel had been gone for less than a month, but the dust in his rooms had accumulated to an alarming degree. He coughed as he shook out the curtains by his bed, and Dean pulled them down, vowing to shake them out before they slept here. Castiel smiled at his use of the word 'we'. 

He reached for the small box beside his bed, and unlocked it, pulling out a locket on a ribbon.

"Dean...they gave this to me at the madhouse. This is my....well, your...mother. This is the only picture of her. I thought you'd want to see it."

Dean took the locket and opened it, looking at the picture while Castiel looked at him. He didn't know what kind of reaction he expected, but he thought Dean should at least see her. His birth mother. 

Dean closed the locket and looked at Castiel. "I saw this once before, you know. The first day here; you went to the library to work, and I decided to snoop through your things. I found this, but didn't really know what it was."

Castiel took it and opened it, looking at the picture, then at Dean. "You look a bit like her," he said. Dean shook his head and reached over, closing the locket again and putting it back in the box. 

"I look like myself." he said, reaching up to brush Castiel's hair aside. "Thank you for wanting to show me. But really...she doesn't matter to me. You do."

Castiel blushed a bit, and Dean grinned then leaned in and kissed him. He pressed firmly, raising a hand to Castiel's chest and pushing him back, until Castiel was lying back on the mattress, Dean over top of him. Their kiss deepened. 

They hadn't done more than kiss since being reunited, Sam's constant presence the main cause of that, but they were alone now and Castiel was very aware of it. He wrapped his arms around Dean's back, pulling him closer, than running his hands down to the edge and tugging it gently until it came untucked from Dean's trousers. 

Dean pulled back and grinned, then reached down and pulled his shirt and undershirt off in one fluid motion. Castiel inhaled sharply as Dean's bare chest came into focus, and Dean laughed, leaning down to kiss Castiel again. Castiel pushed him aside however, and reached down to remove his own shirt. 

"I want to feel your skin," he said with a smile, and Dean's grin grew even wider. 

"Oh yes!" He pounced as soon as Castiel was free of the garment, and pushed him back into the mattress. Their kisses grew more insistent, hands roaming all over the other as if they had never touched before. His blood was rushing downward, but Castiel was hardly even aware of it until Dean's leg found it's way against his groin, and a shot of pleasure rushed through Castiel. 

He moaned, and pushed his own leg between Dean's, the two of them grinding against each other, seeking friction, their lips never separating more than a few millimetres. He could feel Dean's arousal growing, and Castiel moaned again, pressing his leg up harder. 

Dean gasped and reached down to stop him. "Not too fast," he moaned, then his hands moved to the buttons of Castiel's trousers. Castiel groaned in response, his hands going to Dean's. They fumbled a bit, and took much longer than if they had been doing it themselves, but neither was willing to take his hands off the other for even a moment. 

Finally free, they scrambled out of the last remaining items of clothes, then lay back together, eyes roaming over every inch of the other. 

"I love you," Castiel whispered, his hand coming to rest on Dean's chest. He could feel Dean's heart racing under his finger tips. 

Dean picked up Castiel's hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. "I love you." 

Their lips met again, and Castiel brought his hands down lower, down Dean's stomach, down to his hips, then further still, taking his hardness into his hands at last. 

Dean gasped as Castiel started moving his hand up and down, and thrust a bit into his fist before suddenly pulling away. 

"No, wait!" Dean grinned, then started kissing along Castiel's jaw. "You did something amazing for me before. I want to do it for you." He continued trailing kisses down Castiel's neck, sucking in spots where Castiel cried out louder, looking for every bit of skin that would make Castiel happy. He found so many of them, Castiel's hands gripping the bedding tight, biting his lip to keep from calling out. Dean's lips were still at Castiel's chest, he had not even gotten near where Castiel was aching for him to be, and yet he was still more aroused than he had ever imagined being. Dean lip's were magical, they were heavenly. The danced across his skin like they had been doing this all his life, like he had been born to do this. His hands continued to skim his sides carefully, gently, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake, as his lips dipped lower still. They kissed along Castiel's stomach, licked across his abs, dipped playfully into his bellybutton. They trailed wetness lower still, Dean's tongue leading the way now as he licked down, down, and finally found what he had been searching for. 

Dean wrapped his hand around Castiel's base, and Castiel did cry out then; just knowing that Dean was touching him was bliss, and he couldn't believe it could get better. Until Dean pressed a kiss onto Castiel's tip, and Castiel saw stars. 

"Oh god, yes Dean, Dean!" he moaned loudly, not even trying to keep his voice down, and Dean chuckled before opening wide and taking Castiel into his mouth. Castiel cried out again, Dean's name like a chorus falling from his lips as Dean moved his mouth up and down, his hand reaching wherever his mouth could not. Castiel bit his lip, his back arching, his eyes rolling back into his head, his hands grabbing at Dean's head, not to force him but just to hold some part of him. He was going to cum, any second now....

Dean pulled off and Castiel shot his head up to look at him. 

Dean looked utterly wrecked, as he wiped his face. His eyes were blown wide, his hair standing on edge from where Castiel's fingers had gripped it, and his chest was flushed red. 

"Oil. Now. Where is it?" he was breathing heavily, and it took Castiel a minute to come back down to Earth and take the meaning from his words. 

"Oh, oil!!" He rolled over and grabbed it from it's spot in the drawer beside the bed. "It's here, do you want...."

But Dean just grabbed it, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers, then reached behind himself and started to push. 

Castiel gaped at the sight. If he'd thought he was turned on before, he was completely blown apart now by what was happening before him. Dean hissed as he pushed a second finger in, rushing himself to get prepared.

Castiel scrambled up, grabbing Dean's wrist. "Don't hurt yourself," he said, pressing a kiss to Dean's lips. Dean returned the kiss, then pulled away, pushing his fingers in and out. 

"I'm not, I just can't wait any longer. I need you inside me. Fuck..." he hissed as he pushed a third finger in. "I need you so bad."

Castiel moaned, and started rubbing Dean's cock, keeping the other man hard as he fingered himself open. Dean moaned in response, pushing his fingers in deeper, thrusting a few times before pulling them out. 

"Lie down," he hissed, pushing Castiel back into the bed. Castiel complied, momentarily curious, until Dean crawled over him and positioned himself directly over Castiel, spreading the oil generously with his hands. 

"Dean, are you sure?" Castiel moaned, hoping dearly that the answer was yes. Dean didn't bother saying anything, but rather reached down to line Castiel up properly then lowered himself until he was sitting, Castiel fully sheathed inside him. 

"Oh god, you feel incredible inside me," Dean groaned, his head falling back. He moved a bit and Castiel cried out, his own head slamming back into the pillows. 

"God, Dean, I love you so much!" He gasped, then shot forward, raising himself up. Dean's eyes widened, but Castiel grabbed him by the back, adjusting their position so he was sitting upright, face to face with Dean who was still impaled in Castiel's lap. 

"This is much better," he grinned, grabbing Dean's lips in a kiss. "Now we can fuck face to face."

Dean groaned, grinding his hips forward, eliciting a similar response from Castiel. He clung to Dean's back, using all his strength to keep the two of them upright and face to face, then began thrusting upward.

"Fuck, Cas! God yes, Cas, don't stop!" Dean all but growled, his hips pushing down as Castiel's thrust up, his hands clenching Castiel's shoulder's tight for leverage. 

"God dammit, Dean, you're fucking beautiful," Castiel groaned, moving faster, as hard as he could, "I could do this forever."

"You better!" Dean moaned, his head falling backwards. Castiel took the opportunity to suck Dean's exposed Adam's apple. "Fuck, yes....forever....I could ride you forever..."

"I'll never stop," Castiel hissed, feeling the heat coiling in his belly. "You're mine now, and I will fuck you so hard, whenever I want, wherever I want. You're mine, Dean, mine!"

Dean howled at that, his nails digging sharply into Castiel's shoulders, "Yes, yes, yes, god, yes!! Cas Cas Cas!!! Fuck!!!" He jerked backwards, Castiel grunting as he caught the other man's weight in his arms, his orgasm shooting itself across Castiel's chest. 

Castiel gasped and thrust even harder, chasing his own orgasm now as Dean came back from his, grabbing Castiel's shoulder's again. "Yes, Cas, come on, come with me, want to feel you..."

Castiel gasped again, Then cried out Dean's name as he felt the pleasure erupt, buried deep inside Dean, filling him. Dean moaned at the feeling, then grabbed Castiel into a passionate kiss, the two falling back onto the mattress, Castiel's softening length sliding free. 

They panted for breath, lying together with Dean's head resting on Castiel for a change. Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean, clinging to him. He had never felt so full before; full of life, full of hope, full of love. 

Minutes, or perhaps hours passed, before Dean finally looked up at him. "We should really clean up." 

Castiel laughed and climbed out of the bed. The water basin was dry as a bone, but he managed to find some old towels and used them to get the worst of it off himself and Dean, before the two got dressed, taking fresh clothes from Castiel's closet. 

"We should make sure that Sam chooses a room that's not within earshot of ours," Dean chuckled as he slid his feet back into his shoes. "He'll never forgive me if he has to listen to that all the time."

Castiel laughed too, then sat beside the other man, looking at him closely. "Dean....I just want you to know, you...you don't have to stay with me. Just because we do that, I don't...I mean, I don't want you to feel obligated...." Castiel sighed, running his hand through his hair. He didn't know what he was trying to say. 

"Cas..." Dean sighed and wrapped his arm around Castiel's shoulders. "I thought we went over this? I love you. I'm not going anywhere."

"I betrayed you once." Castiel leaned his head on Dean's shoulder. "I guess I'm just waiting for you to remember that and leave. You have money. You don't need me."

"I need you." Dean replied. "I do. And more than that, I want you. So I'm staying right here, whether you like it or not."

"I like it," Castiel smiled, pulling back to look at Dean. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure." Dean leaned in but stopped before meeting Castiel's lips, forcing him to close the gap. He did. He could kiss Dean forever. 

So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is, the ending!! I want to thank everyone who bookmarked, commented, and read along with me, and everyone who sent me comments with their guesses on how it would all end. I hope I didn't disappoint! 
> 
> *update* A huge shout out to InnocentDays, who drew the lovely artwork for this fic! I am flattered that she took the time to make something so beautiful based on my work! Thank you, so much!
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and I hope to see you back here in the future when my next idea strikes! Love you all!


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